


Murderers and Thieves

by 27dragons



Series: Murderers and Thieves [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America's shovel talk is goddamn terrifying, First Time, Frottage, Happy Ending, M/M, MCU-compliant through Winter Soldier, Shovel Talk, Shower Sex, canon-typical lack of realism about psychological issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a man capable of disappearing so utterly that even the international intelligence community thought he was a myth, it didn't take them long to find the Winter Soldier.</p>
<p>For a man who supposedly wanted to be found, the Winter Soldier fought like a wildcat when Steve and Sam finally cornered him.</p>
<p>###</p>
<p>(Post-CA:TWS) Steve and Sam have found Bucky, but they're going to need some help to bring him back to himself. A story about friendship, love, and the family you choose. (One-sided Bucky/Steve in the past, eventual Bucky/Tony. Some other pairings if you squint really hard.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> \- So much love to [tisfan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan) for beta-reading!
> 
> \- The chapters that earn this its (E) rating are largely standalone and plotfree; I'll note them when they happen so you can skip, if that's not your thing. Without those chapters, it's basically a (T).

For a man capable of disappearing so utterly that even the international intelligence community thought he was a myth, it didn't take them long to find the Winter Soldier.

"He wants to be found," Steve insisted as he and Sam hashed out their plan of approach.

Sam thought about the Winter Soldier's blank gaze, and he thought about all the empty eyes he'd seen in his work as a counselor, and he didn't disagree. "That doesn't make him your friend, though," he cautioned.

Steve didn't even look up from the map. "I don't know what they did to him, but that's Bucky in there."

Steve's loyalty was one of the things Sam admired most, but it sure made it damned hard to help the guy sometimes. "Cap, that's an _assassin_ in there. He failed in his mission, and he's lost his command structure, and it's been a long time since they erased you from his brain. He's lost and desperate and grasping at straws."

Steve glared. "He remembered _something_ , so they didn't erase me, they just buried me. He may not have unearthed it all, yet, but he knows I'm going to help him." His expression softened, and he reached across the table to grip Sam's forearm. "I know he's confused, Sam. I know that pain can make someone lash out, even at the ones they love. I'm going to be as careful as I can be. I promise. But I can't _not_ help him." Steve's gaze never faltered. "I'll understand if you need to back out now, and thank you for getting me this far."

God damn it, those earnest eyes could probably talk Sam into cutting off his own legs. "You're not shaking me off that easy," Sam said. "I just want you to know what you're walking into. He's not -- he's _never going to be_ \-- the guy he used to be."

Steve's eyes closed as he nodded, and his hand on Sam's arm trembled, just a bit. "Yeah, well, neither am I."

#

For a man who supposedly wanted to be found, the Winter Soldier fought like a wildcat when Steve and Sam finally cornered him. It didn't help that Steve was so reluctant to hurt him.

Sam had been reduced to scrambling for cover in the first two minutes, his ankle sprained if not broken, some ribs cracked, and his wings disabled. _Again_. He tried to do what he could to help, but mostly what he could do was not be in the way whenever the Winter Soldier threw Steve off. Sam limped around the edges of the abandoned warehouse, looking for any opening to be useful and wishing he'd learned more hand-to-hand. Not that he'd be able to do much against a legendary assassin who had a cyborg arm that could apparently hold its own against Captain fucking America.

Sam blinked, so stunned that he nearly missed ducking when Cap's shield got knocked his way.

He dragged in a deeper breath, mentally cursing the knife's edge of pain in his ribs, and snatched up the shield. "Cap! The _arm_!" He threw the shield, winging it like an oversized Frisbee, and damned if it didn't fly just like one.

Steve caught it without even looking around, his peripheral vision apparently as useful as a normal man's two good eyes. In one smooth twist, he flipped it, jumped up, and dropped _hard_ , using his entire body's weight to slam the thin edge of the shield right into the Winter Soldier's metal arm. It impacted with a sickening crunch.

If it had been meat and bone, it would've sheared off completely, Sam thought. The Winter Soldier's arm sparked and crackled, and when the fight shifted again, Sam could see a long dent across the middle of the bicep region, and the arm was hanging uselessly from its socket. Some of the fingers were twitching eerily, but they didn't appear to be coordinated.

The Winter Soldier snarled and kept fighting, but Steve had the advantage now. It wasn't too much longer before Steve had him grappled and immobilized. "Sam!" he called urgently. Sam dug into the pocket of his cargo pants as he limped toward them, watching the Winter Soldier's still-struggling limbs warily. He popped the cap from the syringe with a thumb and stabbed the needle deep into the straining muscles of the Winter Soldier's good shoulder, then pushed down the plunger.

The Winter Soldier struggled for another ten seconds or so before succumbing to the tranquilizer.

"Wish that hadn't been necessary," Steve sighed as he straightened.

"Hey, he may be your long-lost BFF," Sam snorted, "but he just tried to kill me. He needs to be kept under until we can get him somewhere secure."

Steve's eyes went a little glossy, his brow furrowing slightly they way it did when he was mentally reviewing something. "No," he said slowly. "He could've killed you two… no, three times during that fight, easy, without losing any ground on me." Steve's gaze sharpened again and he looked up at Sam earnestly. "I don't think he could stop himself from fighting, but he was trying not to hurt us. Bucky's still in there, Sam."

Sam dug a coil of steel-core cable from his pants, and started binding the Winter Soldier's ankles, wincing as his cracked ribs protested the movement. "I told you I'm with you on this, Cap, but we still need to keep him sedated and contained, or else he might _try not to hurt_ someone else."

Steve grunted in grudging acceptance and peeled back one of the unconscious man's eyelids, checking the pupil's reactions. Only when he was satisfied did he accept another roll of cable from Sam.

Sam watched Steve tying the Winter Soldier's wrists together for a moment. "So… what are we going to do with him, now that we have him?" He saw the startled flicker in Steve's eyes, and didn't need to hear his answer. "Hadn't thought that far ahead, had you?" He smirked. "Good thing I've got your girlfriend on speed dial. She's probably got some ideas."

"Natasha's not my girlfriend," Steve protested automatically, but Sam was already lifting the phone to his ear.


	2. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha could be as patient as the spider for which she was named. She knew how to watch a target until she had absorbed their movements, until she could read them as easily as printed words. More easily, in fact, because printed words told their lies with neither shame nor fear. She had spent days watching, in the past, hidden in cramped ventilation shafts or in weather-blown branches.
> 
> Watching Barnes from the ergonomically-perfect chairs of the observation room seemed almost like cheating...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm operating on the assumption that the surgery depicted at the end of Iron Man 3 means that Tony no longer has an arc reactor housed in his chest.

Natasha had never seen Tony so still. Even when he was asleep (and it amused her to imagine what his reaction would be, if he ever learned she'd watched his sleep) he twitched and fidgeted. Tony Stark was many things, but "still" was never on that list.

It was a little unnerving, even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone but herself.

She put her back to the window, facing him so she could look at him more closely. Tony's eyes, at least, were bright and active. They flicked and jittered, following the man on the other side of the window, trying to anticipate his movements. The stillness, she realized, was Tony operating at 100% of his mental capacity, allowing nothing -- _nothing_ \-- left over for his usual fidgeting and self-distraction.

In the reflection of his eyes, Natasha could see Barnes, still pacing, prowling, restless, as he had been for the last hour, since the last of the sedative had worn off and he'd woken to find himself in the most secure space Avengers Tower afforded.

Natasha allowed amusement to show on her face. "You built this room to contain the Hulk," she reminded Tony gently. Tony and Bruce had designed the room together when it had begun to look like Bruce was going to stay instead of retreating again to Calcutta.

"The Hulk just smashes," Tony said softly, almost absently, his usual swagger and bravado utterly subsumed by the weight of his concentration on Barnes. "He's not as dumb as people think, but he's not… cunning." His eyes jumped to her face for an instant and then flickered away again, back to watching Barnes. "Nor does he have the fine motor skills needed to finesse his way into the electrical system."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "You think our guest can hack his way out of your Hulk Room?"

"I don't know." Tony twitched and then stilled again, mostly managing to hide how uncomfortable it made him feel to admit that. Natasha saw it, all the same. She liked Tony, as much as she ever allowed herself to like someone, when he wasn't showboating and pretending to be an adolescent ne'er-do-well. "I don't have enough of the variables," he continued. "There are redundancies on top of redundancies here, but no system" --he looked at her seriously, actually meeting her eyes this time-- " _no system_ is foolproof. Not even mine."

He looked past her again, tracking Barnes' movements. "And I don't know the extent of his skillset. I don't like it."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. "Some of SHIELD's old holding facilities might still be secure. I can look into--"

"Don’t be insulting," Tony said. "I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"Trying to play on my pride to make me man up and keep Cap's boyfriend here against my better judgment."

Natasha nodded. "You're right. Is it working?"

Tony hesitated. "Yes. Damn you." He shook himself, and suddenly he was _Tony_ again, all movement and barely-contained energy. His fingers twitched against his leg as if there were a keyboard embedded in his thigh. "How do you do that?"

Natasha smiled, just a little, and admitted to herself that she was relieved to see him acting normal again. "Steve thinks he just needs an excuse to stay locked down," she offered. "That he won't actively look for a way out."

Tony snorted. "He's wrong. But Barnes can stay." He tapped at his chest, where the arc reactor used to be housed, and stood to follow Natasha from the observation room. "JARVIS, keep your eye on our visitor, please, and warn him off if he gets too close to panels… twenty-three through forty. Gas him if he doesn't want to play by the rules."

"Yes, sir."

#

Natasha could be as patient as the spider for which she was named. She knew how to watch a target until she had absorbed their movements, until she could read them as easily as printed words. More easily, in fact, because printed words told their lies with neither shame nor fear. She had spent days watching, in the past, hidden in cramped ventilation shafts or in weather-blown branches.

Watching Barnes from the ergonomically-perfect chairs of the observation room seemed almost like cheating, especially when Steve came in with a tray of food for her, a sandwich and a pear and a bottle of water. He set it on the nearby table and leaned against the window to peer at Barnes, who was sitting, unmoving, on the far side of the room. "Anything new?" He didn't even try to suppress his tone of hopeful longing.

"Maybe," she allowed. "He stopped pacing a little while ago and took a nap. Just a short one, maybe ten minutes. And when he woke up, he was…" She gestured to a monitor, and Steve looked at it obediently while she instructed JARVIS to queue the surveillance footage.

On the monitor, Barnes was curled into a tight ball, the damaged metal arm tucked close to his belly. He woke all at once, sitting up and taking in his surroundings with wide -- but not angry -- eyes. At her elbow, Steve caught his breath, and held it. Barnes lifted his right hand -- the human one -- and shoved it through his hair, lingering to scratch at the nape of his neck.

"Bucky," Steve whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He turned his head from the monitor to the window. "What's he done since then?"

"Nothing," Natasha assured him. "It's only been about five minutes. But he hasn't moved from that spot."

Steve nodded. "That's him." He turned toward the door, then paused, cast a sheepish look her way. "Can I go in there?" He'd agreed, when they'd called to ask for her help, to let her be in charge of the security and deprogramming, that he was too close to the situation to be fully rational about it.

Natasha's heart ached for him, it really did. She leaned back in her seat, as if taking measure of the situation. "I will be watching," she said. "If he attacks you, I will have JARVIS gas the room. That'll put you out, too, and Bruce says the stuff comes with a hell of a hangover." She met Steve's gaze steadily. "I will not wait for you to subdue him," she warned.

He took a breath, then let it out. "I understand."

"Hey." He turned back to her, a question in his eyes. Natasha picked up the lunch tray and held it out. "Take him this. It's been a couple of hours since the last time he ate." She hoped Steve wouldn't ask about that. Barnes had still been in Winter Soldier mode, at the time, and the pain and fear and feral mistrust she'd read in the quivering lines of his body had nearly made her sick with rage at his previous captors. It had hit her hard, because she'd thought she'd been numbed to most of the terrible things people could do to each other.

But Steve didn't ask. Instead, he took the tray with the sort of genuine smile that never failed to warm even her. "Thanks."

Steve had to make his way through three airlock-style doors to get into the room with Barnes. Natasha counted off the timing in her head. Barnes' head lifted when Steve got to the middle door, which meant his hearing was enhanced, maybe even on par with Steve's.

Barnes climbed to his feet, and Natasha sighed and touched the microphone control. "Stay where you are. Do not approach the door," she said.

As the Winter Soldier, he had straightened immediately into painful attention at the instruction, his shoulders tightening in anticipation of what pain she could only guess. Now he looked around for the source of her voice, then cautiously held his human hand out, showing it open and empty, facing the door but not advancing. "Where am I?" he asked.

The final door opened then to reveal Steve. Even at this distance, Natasha could see the naked hope on his expression. It ached, and Natasha hoped desperately that she was not about to bear witness to the breaking of Captain America's heart and spirit.

Barnes frowned, not the Winter Soldier's scowl but in confusion and concentration. "I know you," Barnes said softly. "I've seen-- Steve? Is that right?"

Steve smiled and let the door fall closed behind him. "Yeah, Buck. That's right."

Barnes' frown deepened. "Buck is… is me? I don't. I can't remember."

"It's okay, pal," Steve promised, his easy voice betrayed -- to Natasha, at least -- by the ripple of his throat around a hard swallow. "No rush. It'll come back to ya." He nodded to the tray. "Want some lunch?"

Barnes looked wary. "What is it?"

"Turkey sandwich," Steve said. He took a couple of steps closer to Barnes, held out the tray. "Made it m'self. Come and get it."

Barnes started to move, then glanced up at the ceiling. "The lady said not to move," he said.

Steve frowned toward the window, his gaze not quite hitting Natasha squarely. "Did she?"

Natasha touched the mike button again. "It's SOP," she answered calmly, "to clear the door while it's open. Now that it's closed, Sergeant Barnes, you're free to move. I'll have to ask you to step away when it's time for Steve to end his visit. It's just a precaution."

Barnes nodded, and she could see that while he didn't like it, he understood. He took a couple of steps toward Steve, and then another, and then was close enough to reach for the tray. Steve surrendered it immediately, and Barnes dropped to the floor on the spot, cross-legged, and set it on the floor. He frowned at the bottle of water, then wedged it against his thigh to twist off the cap right-handed. He drank half the bottle in one long gulp and sighed with relief before looking up at Steve, who was still watching him with bewilderment.

"You're a hell of a long way up there, Stevie," Barnes said. "Siddown, would ya, so I don't get a crick in my neck just talking?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course." Steve sat, just out of arm's reach, to Natasha's approval.

Barnes picked up the sandwich and sniffed at it, then took a bite. "Not bad," he allowed. He speared Steve with a sharp glance while he swallowed, then looked back down at the tray and said, "How long've I been here?"

"Not long," Steve answered. "Seven, maybe eight hours."

Bucky nodded, though to Natasha's eye it wasn't a nod that said _yes, that's what I thought_ , but _okay, I'll take that under advisement_. "Any chance you can tell me any more?" Bucky tried. "Where I am, or who's got me, or, y'know, what I'm bein' held for and whether there's any chance of me getting out?"

Steve's jaw knotted and jumped. He looked toward Natasha, even though the specially-reinforced glass was opaque from the room's interior. Barnes followed his gaze this time, and Natasha watched him trace the panels, estimating the shape and size of the window. Steve looked like he was waiting. Natasha sighed. They should have discussed this before he'd gone in. She touched the button again. "Your call, Steve."

Barnes was frowning again, staring intently at Steve. "There was a… a war," he breathed. "And you were there."

He had Steve's full attention now. "That's right," he said.

"There was snow. And mountains? And… and…" He punched his own leg with frustration. "It's gone again."

Steve's hands clenched, but he didn't reach out, didn't try to touch his friend. Natasha wondered how much that hurt him. "Easy, Buck," Steve said. "It'll come. Just give it time. Eat your lunch, and I'll tell you what I can."

Steve talked quietly while Barnes ate, and Natasha leaned back in Tony's ergonomic chair and mostly tuned them out. She kept watching, alert for any sign that Barnes was slipping back into the Winter Soldier, but it seemed right to let Steve -- to let both of them -- have what little bit of privacy she could allow for this hollow reunion.

 


	3. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony had provoked the fucking _Hulk_ , for pity's sake, he wasn't worried about the ex-assassin (supposedly-ex) who had killed his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: PTSD & anxiety attacks, discussion of assassination and killing in the line of duty

Tony double-checked the equipment on the cart -- he didn't want to have to go back to the lab if there was something important missing, not once he'd gotten started. He was definitely not stalling, because there was no reason to stall.

Even on the bad days, the days Barnes couldn't remember anything and the Winter Soldier seemed to press against the inside of his skin, rendering him mute and wild, even on those days, he had not even once lashed out at Steve, only paced the expansive limits of his confinement, a restless tiger in the zoo.

And even if tampering with his arm -- or the fact that Tony maybe looked just a little bit too much like his father for comfort's sake -- _did_ trigger something unfortunate, Steve was going to be right there, and Natasha and Sam were both in the observation booth with their hands on the gas button. So there was no reason to stall. Tony had provoked the fucking _Hulk_ , for pity's sake, he wasn't worried about the ex-assassin (supposedly-ex) who had killed his parents.

He just wanted to make sure he had all the necessary tools for the job, and while he had a set of jeweler's tools for the finer pieces, he wondered suddenly if he might not be better off with a--

"The door is clear, Tony," Natasha said quietly. Tony really wanted to be grateful for her tact in letting him pretend that he'd been waiting for her go-ahead, but all he could think about was that Barnes hadn't laid eyes on another living soul except Cap and Sam since they'd brought him in, and he, Tony Stark, of all people...

"Right," Tony muttered, and pressed his thumb to the scanpad to open the last of the doors into the Hulk Room.

Which, he noted as he stepped through, had over the last several weeks become the Bucky Room, because of course the man needed to have an actual bed. And a table and a couple of chairs, and there were some books and stuff Steve had brought him to pass the time.

"Ah, hell," Tony sighed, "it still looks like a damned prison cell." So much for first impressions. His fingers drummed a tattoo over his chest.

Barnes was standing over on the far side of the bed, where he usually went when they told him to stand clear of the door, Steve hovering protectively. Barnes shoved his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Ain't quite so bad as all that. I seen... I been in worse." He drew what looked like a nervous breath, extended his hand, and said, "I want to thank you, Mr. Stark, for--"

"Are you kidding me? You're like twice my age; you can't call me 'Mr. Stark' unless you're about to send me to bed without my supper. Just Tony's fine," Tony interrupted. He pushed his cart of equipment into the middle of the room and then left it there to continue across the floor to take Barnes' hand. "If Spangles there hasn't already warned you off, we can skip the conversation about how you knew my dad. Or how much I look like him. Pretty much anything to do with my dad? Let's skip it."

Barnes' grip was tentative at first, and then closed for a firm shake when nothing disastrous happened on contact, as if he'd been as nervous about the meeting as Tony. (Who hadn't actually been nervous. For the record.) "So... you don't wanna hear about that one time Howard and I got accidentally left behind while we were all on leave and wound up hitching back to the post with three hootchie-girls and a llama?"

Tony froze. He looked at Steve, and Steve's expression was both mildly scandalized and slightly curious, which was a peculiar fucking expression to find on Captain America's face. Tony shifted his gaze back to Barnes, and for just an instant, there was a curve of his mouth that wanted really badly to be a smirk when it grew up.

And like that, the last of Tony's nerves dissipated, leaving him cautious but optimistic and verging on excited, like he always felt when he was working on something new and fun. Damned if he'd be schooled by some old man who'd spent most of the last seventy years on ice, though. "Heard it," he said dismissively, and then upped the ante with, "Though I never did quite figure out why the llama had to be wearing a red silk bra."

Barnes grinned openly now, and Tony felt the full weight of the Bucky Charm, and no wonder Steve had his panties in a bunch over this guy. "Well," Barnes drawled easily, "the purple one fit me better."

Steve snorted, and Tony laughed outright. Barnes clapped Tony's shoulder. He turned to Steve and said, "I think I like this one, Stevie, can we keep 'im?"

"I think we're the ones who are keeping you, young man," Tony chided. (Young, old, whatever; consistency was for other people.) "Come have a seat and let me poke you with sharp implements."

"Tony," murmured Steve, but his eyes were full of gratitude and Tony would not admit this under torture but _fuck_ if having Captain America looking at him so proud and happy wasn't something Tony desperately wanted to experience again, and how did the guy _do_ that?

Apparently unbothered, Barnes shucked his shirt (less awkwardly than it should have been for a guy with only one working arm) and dropped into one of the chairs.

Tony grabbed the other chair and dragged it over so he could look at the metal arm. Barnes wasn't quite as big as Steve, but wasn't exactly a little guy, either, so Tony hefted the arm by the wrist and dropped the forearm across his knees so it wouldn't be in his way while he was poking at the shoulder. Barnes hissed, and Tony held both hands up immediately, his eyes on Barnes' face. "Sorry, that hurt? I didn't think--"

"No," Barnes said, but he said it tightly, staring past Tony at the wall.

Steve frowned and leaned down. "Buck? You still with us?"

Barnes nodded.

"Bucky," and that was his Captain America Commands You voice. "Let's have some words here." The Winter Soldier didn't like to talk much, they'd learned early on; the easiest way to keep Barnes grounded was to make him talk.

"Nothin' to be done," Barnes said, his Brooklyn accent still thick and broad. "Just... want to get it over with."

Tony leaned back and grabbed the edge of the cart, pulling it closer to grab an imager. The tools rattled, and Barnes' eyes showed white around the edges before he squeezed them shut, his human hand groping its way up to his good shoulder and wrapping around Steve's wrist.

"Relax," Tony said. "Seriously, you're stressing me out. I have a heart condition, you know, you should be nice to me."

Barnes puffed out a half-laugh. "Yeah, sure."

"Come on," Tony said, and lightly kicked at the leg of Barnes' chair. "I'm not doing anything as long as you're making that face. What's the deal? Does it hurt now or do you just expect it to hurt when I get started?"

"Tony, can you just--"

"Ah-ah, no Cap," Tony cut Steve off. "I can't. This isn't like cleaning out a boo-boo and having to suck it up because the alcohol stings, okay? I have no idea how this thing is wired, or how it works, or how it's hooked up to him, and I have got to have all the data. Because the only other option is to put him under--"

"No!" Barnes backed away, scrambling, tipping the chair over in his haste. "No, don't, don't put me down, I can't--"

"Buck!" Steve's wrist was still in Barnes' grip, and they were getting tangled together. "Bucky, hey, no one's going to, I promise. I swear, Bucky, okay, it ain't happening!"

Barnes didn't seem willing to listen until they were both all the way back to the far side of the room, where he huddled into a small knot and Steve crouched over him protectively, saying whatever he needed to say to get Barnes calmed down, too quiet for Tony to hear.

Tony hooked the fallen chair with his ankle and righted it, then propped his foot on the seat to wait. Then he pulled out his phone, because sitting still wasn't something he could do. "JARVIS," he murmured, "response to the phone, please: got a bead on Barnes' symptoms right now?"

Text scrolled across the phone screen, outlining the vitals JARVIS could monitor with the sensors he commonly had available -- breathing rate, temperature, a reasonable approximation of heartrate, pupil dilation, and added, _Indications are consistent with an anxiety attack of moderate severity._ Well. Tony knew a little about those, didn't he?

The phone blinked at him. _Potentially of note: the outward physical responses most closely associated with intrusion of the 'Winter Soldier' programming are absent._

"Huh." Tony looked back across the room. Barnes seemed to have calmed somewhat, though his head was hanging down, hair hiding his face while Steve was rubbing a hand over his shoulders. "J, when was the last time the Winter Soldier came out to play?"

_Four days ago. There was no apparent trigger, and the lapse was six hours in duration._

"How about these panic attacks? He having many of those?"

_Frequently, sir, of varying duration._ JARVIS scrolled a list of apparent triggers down the screen; some were more obvious than others.

Tony tapped at his chest and stared into space a little, letting the numbers and the shapes of things dance in his head without his conscious direction. Once in a while a spike of an idea would flash red in his peripheral vision, and he'd tag it and send JARVIS off for more data.

When Barnes and Steve returned, Barnes managing to look both sheepish and sullen, and Steve somehow bracketing worried and stern, Tony dropped the phone into his pocket and sat up, moving his foot so Barnes could sit again. Tony held out his hands to show them empty. "Apparently I missed a briefing, so before I start with the poking, let's talk."

Barnes swallowed. "Can't we just do it? Get it over with?"

"If it hurts that much? Fuck, no. I don't know what Stars-and-Stripes here has told you about me, but--"

"He told me I murdered your parents," Barnes hissed, his eyes firmly on the floor.

Boy, it was a good thing Tony was already sitting down. "Seriously? That's what we're doing now? You want me to punish you for killing my folks?"

Steve, surprisingly, didn't jump in. He just stood behind Barnes, watching closely, his expression shuttered. Tony wondered if Natasha could read him. Probably, but Tony couldn't. Tony'd never been all that great at people.

Barnes shrugged, not denying it. "You'd have every right."

Tony leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "They told me you were a mindless killing machine at the time. Operative word being 'mindless'."

"That doesn't excuse-- I killed all those people." Barnes looked like a ghost.

"Uh-huh." Tony uncrossed his arms restlessly, tapped on his chest. "Hey, JARVIS, talk to me."

"What may I do for you, sir?" Barnes didn't jump; he'd been using JARVIS to pull up movies for a couple of weeks now.

"About how many people has Iron Man killed in the last five years? Direct kills, not injuries or the questionable-attribution stuff." Tony already knew the number; it haunted his nightmares.

"Not including the Chitauri, sir, I believe the number is slightly in excess of one hundred fifty, most of whom were affiliated with the Ten Ri--"

"Yeah, yeah, bad guys one and all if we don't count the perfectly innocent people killed by the weapons I designed." Tony thumped his chest. "And how many known kills do we have on record for Black Widow and Hawkeye? Same parameters."

"That information is classified, sir."

"More than one-fifty each, I bet."

"That would not be an unreasonable assumption, sir."

"How about Cap, here?" Tony didn't look at Steve, but he could feel the startled glare. "First time we worked together," Tony told Barnes conversationally, "he threw a bunch of guys off one of those helicarriers. We were pretty high up and they weren't packing parachutes. Not to mention the Hydra agents who got caught in the middle when you first turned up and that whole mess with SHIELD came down. Kill-or-be-killed, mostly, but Cap's count is maybe higher than Widow's over the same period."

Natasha's voice echoed coolly from the speakers. "In your dreams, Stark." Tony could have kissed her for that. She hated talking about her kill record, but obviously she could see where he was going.

More, the intrusion of her voice had made Barnes finally look up from the floor. Tony spread his hands again and smiled like the showman he was. "You've fallen in amongst murderers and thieves, here, Barnes. We're still at war. When we have the leisure to subdue, we try for it, but sometimes -- most of the time, even -- it's not possible. We like to think it's in the cause of the greater good. That we've saved more lives than we've taken. That they're all bad guys. But they're probably not. Some of them thought _they_ were the good guys, and were only following orders. Doing what they thought was right.

"Sometimes, we don't even have the comforting illusion of the moral high ground." Tony pointed at Steve without breaking eye contact with Barnes. "Those guys he threw off without parachutes? They were being mind-controlled. You think he doesn't have nightmares about that?"

Steve hissed. "Damn it, Tony--"

Tony rode over him, pointed back at Barnes. "You think you deserve judgment for the lives you took when you didn't have any other choice? Fine. Your penance is to live the rest of your life knowing that you've got those choices in your hands again. Yours. Your hands, you are making your own choices from here on out. And if you're going to insist on making me the... the representative of those you have wronged, then I call on you to make those choices better than the people who were making them for you, before."

Barnes' eyes were wide again, staring. He blew out a breath. "You sure as hell don't pull any punches, do you?"

"That's not my style," Tony admitted.

"And we all know you're all about style," Steve murmured, though the words lacked the bite they'd had when he'd said them the first time. This time they seemed... fond, almost admiring, and if Tony thought about that any harder he was going to start shaking, so no.

He looked back at Barnes. "Right now," he said, "you have two choices. You can help me fix your arm, or you can send me away and leave it how it is. Your choice," he reiterated, biting off each word precisely, "but if you want it to be fixed, you're going to have to trust me, just a little bit." Tony sat back in the chair and folded his arms again, pretending with everything in him that he didn't care in the slightest which way Barnes chose.


	4. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We were there," he said softly, sitting up a little straighter. "Yeah, Steve? You and me, and a couple'a gals? We were gonna go see the flying car, and on our way we stopped and got cotton candy." It spooled across his memory in bright colors; he could smell the popcorn and the peanuts and the cotton candy all together, could taste the salt and the sugar. "You got some of the fluff on your chin," Bucky continued dreamily, "and I licked it off you, just to make the gals laugh. But I wanted to keep going. Wanted to lick right down your neck, and then kiss my way back up..."
> 
> Steve had gone still. Very, very still, breath held, even as a red flush crept up the back of his neck.
> 
> Aw, hell.

Bucky was sitting on his bed, scrolling through a holographic listing of films when JARVIS said, "Sergeant, Captain Rogers is requesting entrance. Are you at home to company?"

Bucky snorted. The computer butler had taken over the door warn-away duty immediately following Stark's -- Tony's -- first visit, and Bucky still hadn't made up his mind whether he appreciated or resented its insistence on pretending that Bucky had anything like a choice. "Well, we might have to reschedule tea, but I think I can squeeze him into my schedule." He didn't get up from the bed, though, just kept flicking through the films.

Steve came in and set the lunch tray on the table, like usual. "Little weird to see how cozy you've gotten with the tech," he said by way of greeting.

Bucky glanced up with a grin. "It's like living in one of those old sci-fi stories," he replied. "I love it." He looked back down at the listing, flicked to the next screen. "Plus, it's not like I've got much to do but practice with it, most days."

Steve probably pulled a face at that, so Bucky didn't look up to see it, because there wasn't a damn thing either of them could do about it, and they both knew it. At least Steve had stopped trying to apologize for it. Instead, he came over to crane his neck at the listing. "Are those all shows about _Tony_? Heck of a crush you're nursing, there, Buck."

Bucky huffed a laugh. "The guy's a puzzle," he admitted. "Is he ever completely honest? Even with himself?"

"Only when you wish he wouldn't be, and especially not with himself," Steve said, with a wry note that made Bucky think there was more to the story than he already knew, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to hear about it today.

Bucky picked one of the shows at random -- a highlights reel from the Stark Expo a few years back, apparently -- and stretched out on the bed to watch it, propping his head up on his hand, relieved once again that the mechanical arm, with its painfully damaged connections, had been removed, so he didn't have to rearrange it.

The stump was nearly finished healing now, too, which was something else to be grateful for. It'd hurt like the blazes when Tony took it off, and Bucky had stubbornly refused all but the lightest of local anesthetics, which hadn't reached much more than skin deep. Steve had hovered and fretted every time Bucky'd ground his teeth until finally, Bucky had demanded that he leave the damn room and not come back until it was done. Tony had done him one better and told whoever was guarddogging on the other side of the wall to not let Steve stick around to watch from there, either.

Steve had been pissed about it for a few days, but eventually he'd caved and agreed that he was far better at taking damage than watching someone else do it, and Bucky had made him promise to apologize to Tony, too, though he wasn't sure it'd ever gotten done.

Steve settled himself on the floor while the film got started and leaned back against the bed, flipping open a sketchbook. This was how they'd passed the last few afternoons, kibitzing over movies and generally relaxing, and it hadn't even been until the second day that Bucky had realized Steve's position on the floor was completely deliberate, a dropped guard and open, trusting target presented to try to tempt the Winter Soldier, who hadn't put in an appearance in almost two weeks, now, since the night after the arm had come off. Bucky didn't know how to feel about that, either, but he hadn't said anything because even if he still couldn't remember much of their lives together before, this was as close to normal as Bucky'd felt since he'd first begun to pull himself out of the Winter Soldier's fog.

The film cut to an old reel, a young Howard Stark showing off his latest invention, and the voice overlay fuzzed away as Bucky felt pulled, almost physically, toward the holodisplay.

"We were there," he said softly, sitting up a little straighter. "Yeah, Steve? You and me, and a couple'a gals? We were gonna go see the flying car, and on our way we stopped and got cotton candy." It spooled across his memory in bright colors; he could smell the popcorn and the peanuts and the cotton candy all together, could taste the salt and the sugar. "You got some of the fluff on your chin," Bucky continued dreamily, "and I licked it off you, just to make the gals laugh. But I wanted to keep going. Wanted to lick right down your neck, and then kiss my way back up..."

Steve had gone still. Very, very still, breath held, even as a red flush crept up the back of his neck.

Aw, hell. Guess he hadn't ever gotten around to letting Steve in on that last bit. Well, maybe he could salvage it. "No? False memory, maybe, like the one about the lizard?"

Steve breathed again, though that flush was still climbing. "No, that-- that one happened," he said. "Didn't. Uh. Didn't know that was how you felt about it, though."

"Sorry," Bucky sighed, though he couldn't have said whether he meant he was sorry for spilling the beans now, or for not telling Steve about it sooner.

Steve hesitated a heartbeat or two, then finally turned to look at him, his smile tight with embarrassment but not anger, not anger and not disgust, thank Christ. "Don't need to be sorry, Buck," he said carefully. "I mean, um, these days, that kind of thing--"

Bucky grinned, and hoped it wasn't nearly as rubbery and fake as it felt. "Hey, if there's one silver lining to not having most of my memories, it's that I'm not tied to... what'd Tony call it? ...an outdated moral foundation."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "You talked to _Tony_ about _sex_?" His voice spiraled upward in a way that, under other circumstances, Bucky probably would've found hilarious.

"No, more like _he_ talked to _me_. The whole damn time he was unhooking my arm. I think it was his way of trying to keep me distracted. Don't think I could've shut him up with a gag. It was easier to just let him run."

"Yeah, but... Tony's not really the--"

"Point is," Bucky interrupted, "whatever things used to be like, I'm pretty okay with my sexuality right now."

"So you're actually... gay?"

"Bisexual," Bucky said, milking the word just a little bit to watch Steve's eyes get all big and round, because it was kinda fun to wind Steve up even if it was going to get him in trouble. "You didn't think I left all those pretty gals hanging, did you?"

Steve frowned, not meeting Bucky's eyes, but he didn't turn away. He didn't ask the question Bucky thought he would ask, either, which was a bit surprising, because Bucky had yet to uncover a memory of Steve in which Steve had been anything but brave and honest. "So, um, when I was teasing you about-- I mean, you and--" Steve glanced helplessly at the film still playing in the background, Tony prancing around a stage making larger-than-life gestures. "Do you actually want--"

"You asking if I actually do have a crush on the guy?" Bucky said, starting to enjoy the moment a little. Steve was blushing hard enough to blend in with the stripes on his old Cap uniform. Bucky let the question hang for a few seconds, then figured he should probably let Steve off the hook. "I really hadn't considered it. Does he even swing that way?"

"He didn't tell you, during your little _tête-à-tête_?"

"Careful, Stevie, you're gonna make me think you're jealous." Bucky smirked at the flat look Steve gave him, but then sighed and flopped back down onto the bed. "Look, it doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure I haven't had any action since the war. It wasn't ever part of my Hydra mission parameters -- at least, not for any of the missions I've been able to remember -- and it wasn't like they were gonna give me any weekend passes. And since I've started to... wake up, I've been so turned around that it didn't even occur to me to think about it until Tony brought it up. I promise I'm not carrying any torches right now. Too much else to think about." And then, still a little nervous about having maybe offended Steve, he offered up a rare gem of unvarnished truth: "I'm just glad you brought me back."

That drew the sweet smile that Bucky had known it would, and Steve nodded. "Yeah, me too, Buck." He turned back around and went back to his drawing. "Hell of a thing to spring on me like that, though. Jerk."

"Punk," Bucky said, without heat, and resolutely turned his eyes back to the film.

#

Two days later, Steve showed up early, dressed in his Captain America outfit. "I've got a mission," he said, even before a greeting crossed his lips, and Bucky knew from the tone of his voice (though Bucky was still hard-pressed to explain just _how_ he knew) that Steve was in a hurry, and that someone's life was on the line, someone Steve cared about or felt responsible for.

It was a little warming, actually, that he'd come to see Bucky at all, instead of just having JARVIS pass along the message. Bucky tried to focus on that thought, and not the disappointment or the fear.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be gone," he continued. "A week at minimum. Probably longer. I'll try to make sure you get updates, if it's allowed."

"Yeah." Bucky tried not to feel abandoned and resentful. "I'd say 'be careful', but you wouldn't listen to me anyway."

Steve's strained smile said more than Bucky wanted to know about the mission's level of danger, but he just clapped Bucky on the shoulder, then pulled him into a rough hug. "Tony's promised to look in on you every day. And he's almost done fixing your arm, he said."

"Be nice to have two hands again," Bucky allowed. Steve hesitated, opened his mouth to speak but then nothing came out. Bucky shoved his hand through his hair and scratched at his neck. "You'd best be going," he prodded. "Important Captain America things to do, and all."

Steve nodded, obviously still torn. "Not that you're not important, Buck. I just--"

Bucky shoved at him, though it would take more force than Bucky could summon just now to actually move Steve if he didn't want to be moved. "G'wan," he said. "Get out of here, malingerer. Don't do anything too stupid."

Steve gave him a sad smile. "Leaving all the stupid right here," he said, in that sad tone that meant it was a memory Bucky hadn't uncovered yet. With a last, unreadable look, Steve left. Bucky sat on his bed and watched until the last faint hum of the exterior doors had faded from his ears, and for an hour or more after that.


	5. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony pulled an offended face. "Are you accusing me of having built something that could merely _go on the blink_? My technology, Barnes, may become obsolete, it may be overridden by hostile forces, it may become evil and attempt to take over the planet--"  
>  "I can barely keep you in line, sir; the idea of controlling the entire planet is vastly wearying," JARVIS put in.  
> Tony ignored it. "--but it does not simply go _on the blink_ , thank you very much."

Bucky was at the tail end of his improvised calisthenics a few days later, counting sit-ups, when he heard the exterior door cycling. He wiped his face on his shirt and rolled to his feet, ready for the warn-away, but it didn't come, not even as an excessively-polite request from the computer. The door slid open and Tony strolled in, grinning.

Bucky blinked at him, then glanced at the ceiling, then looked back at Tony. "JARVIS on the blink?"

"I assure you, I am in full working order, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS said.

Tony pulled an offended face. "Are you accusing me of having built something that could merely go _on the blink_? My technology, Barnes, may become obsolete, it may be overridden by hostile forces, it may become evil and attempt to take over the planet--"

"I can barely keep you in line, sir; the idea of controlling the entire planet is vastly wearying," JARVIS put in.

Tony ignored it. "--but it does not simply go _on the blink_ , thank you very much."

Bucky knew better by now than to take Tony's ranting at face value. "Okay, so then why were you stupid enough to come in without the warn-off? I can hear you coming; I might've been waiting by the door to clean your clock when you came through."

"Pff." Tony waved a hand. "You wouldn't do that. Even the Winter Soldier programming wouldn't do that, because it's cunning enough to wait for you to get your arm back first."

Bucky scowled. "Maybe. It might consider the arm a reasonable trade for escape."

Tony shrugged and brushed past him. "Maybe, whatever. Bored now. Come on, get your stuff together."

"Get my-- What are you talking about?"

Tony began stacking the books on the table. "Time to move you to new quarters."

"Um. This is already pretty secure, I don't--"

"Yeah, but Bruce is coming back next week and it makes him nervous if there are other kids in his playroom. You'll have to finish recuperating in less secure quarters."

"Tony." Bucky planted his feet and scowled. "This isn't safe. I'm a danger, to you and everyone--"

"You haven't had a scary episode in nearly a month," Tony said, abruptly serious. "We're not turning you out. You'll still be under JARVIS' supervision and your contact with the general public is going to be limited for a while longer, if that makes you feel any better."

"Steve didn't say anything about--"

"Steve isn't in charge of your security and deprogramming," Tony interrupted, tapping at his chest, the way he did sometimes. "Natasha is."

Natasha was the Black Widow, whom Bucky vaguely remembered from that first dust-up with Steve a few months ago. Unless his memory was playing tricks on him -- which was always a distinct possibility -- he'd roughed her up some, and shot her right through the shoulder. Bucky was pretty sure that sort of behavior didn't exactly rate him the fluffy bunny treatment. "And she thinks--"

"She does. I talked to her about it yesterday. Come on, Barnes, I'm trying to move you into an apartment with real windows, a modicum of privacy, and a working shower. Why are you fighting me?"

Bucky swallowed, hard. As many times as he'd felt like being confined to this room was going to make him crazy, it suddenly felt wrong to leave it. "Is this-- I mean. Do I get a choice?"

Tony's eyebrow went up, and he met Bucky's eyes for a moment before he deflated and stepped back. "Yeah. Yeah, of course you do. You'd rather stay, you can stay."

Bucky chewed on his lip and looked around. It was stupid to feel nostalgic for a cage, he told himself, even a pretty comfortable cage. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah, okay. But just for the shower." He tried to grin at Tony, fairly certain it fell flat.

Tony pretended not to notice, sweeping up Bucky's books in his arm. "There you go! Come on, grab whatever you can't live without for the next day or so, and follow me."

No alarms screamed when Bucky stepped tentatively through the several layers of doors. No soldiers leaped out of hiding to surround them when he followed Tony down the long hallway beyond and into an elevator.

The walls of the elevator were covered with mirrors, and Bucky all but cringed at his reflection; he looked like the tramps and hobos that had haunted the docks before the war, all ragged clothing, unkempt hair, and hollow eyes. Bucky resolutely turned his back to the mirrors.

"Put your thumb on that pad," Tony told him, nodding at the elevator controls. When Bucky complied, a light flashed under his skin, bright enough to turn his skin briefly green and show him the shape of the bones beneath. "We're putting you on a floor by yourself for now," Tony told him, "so you don't have to worry about noisy neighbors."

_So I don't have to worry about killing anyone in their sleep,_ Bucky translated that. _Or in_ my _sleep._

"You have unfettered access to your floor, and the common area as long as one of the other Avengers is already on it," Tony continued. "Access to the other Avengers' levels and the public levels will be allowed if you're being accompanied by at least one other registered Avenger." He tipped his head slightly, warm eyes watching Bucky closely, making calculations that Bucky could only guess at. "We've all got access to your floor for now, and for now, you won't be able to change that. When Natasha gives you the all-clear, you'll be allowed to lock us out, if you want."

Bucky nodded, though he knew in his gut that this was more freedom than was safe, certainly more than he deserved.

"JARVIS knows what it looks like when you're falling back into programmed behavior, and he knows what an anxiety attack looks like. If either occurs, he'll alert someone to come and help you. Or confine you, if that's needed."

Bucky shuddered.

"It won't be," Tony said.

"You don't know that. You don't know what I'm capable of."

"Got a pretty good idea what you're capable of, actually," Tony said, and finally punched a button on the elevator control bank. They began to rise. "Also got a pretty good idea of how willing you are to do it."

"Tony--"

"Genius," Tony chirped. "Remember our deal? You make the choice, and then you have to trust us -- trust me -- to see it through."

Bucky sighed and leaned against the wall of the elevator. Then he remembered that he was filthy, and straightened again.

The elevator opened onto what looked like a fairly posh, if blandly-decorated, living room. Tony led the way out of the elevator, dumping Bucky's books messily onto the sofa. "Living room," he announced, strolling through it toward the hallway on the opposite side. "There are three bedrooms, but right now only one of them is made up. You can use the others for whatever you want -- workshop, library, studio, whatever. There's a kitchenette, but it's not stocked with anything but drinks and snacks right now." Tony paused in his whirlwind tour, spinning on one heel to fix Bucky with another look. "You are encouraged to come down to the common area for meals. JARVIS can let you know when those are happening, just ask."

Before Bucky could reply, Tony resumed the tour, throwing open a door to the biggest bedroom Bucky had ever seen in his life, and that maybe included some of the barracks he'd been in. There was a little sitting area in front of him -- for in case the living room wasn't good enough, he supposed -- and there was a broad vanity with a mirror and some kind of fancy light over it, and a dresser big enough to hold a whole regiment's clothes. Beyond that, against the wall and under the wall-to-wall windows, the bed looked big enough for at least three. There were two other doors; Tony labeled them each with a casual wave: "Closet, and bathroom. There are some clothes laid in that should do you for now, and there's some basic toiletries in the bathroom. No sharp implements, for now, but there's an electric razor for your face, at least. If you want your hair cut, we'll arrange something."

Bucky felt dizzy. He couldn't speak; he just kept nodding.

Finally, Tony seemed to notice, and wound himself down. "Okay, yeah, I'm going to leave you to look around and get settled in. JARVIS will call you in about two hours to come down to the common area, and we'll have lunch. And after that, we can see about maybe getting your arm put back together."

That one stuck. "My arm?"

Tony grinned. "Down to the very last assemblies. After lunch, I promise to take you down to the workshop, though we'll have to see if... Well, today or tomorrow. But for now -- take a shower, put on some clean clothes, take a nap or whatever. Relax. Got it?"

"Yeah, relax. Whatever you say, boss."

#

He could've spent the whole two hours in the damn shower, it felt so good. The room he'd been in before hadn't had much in the way of plumbing -- he guessed it hadn't been planned as a long-term holding cell -- and he'd been bathing out of the sink for the last six weeks or so. He vaguely recalled a shower at the Hydra facility, but he'd never been in it alone, always guarded, triple-guarded, there only for the minimum hygiene necessary to keep his body -- the _asset_ \-- in working order.

Bucky shuddered at the memory of that tepid dribble and cranked up the heat until it skittered off his skin, so hot it felt icy for an instant. He stood there, leaning against the tile with his eyes closed, letting the warmth and the steam slide into his pores and his lungs and his muscles, until it felt like his body had melted and run down the drain, leaving him a literal ghost instead of merely a figurative one.

He wasn't sure how much later it was -- had he dozed off for a while? -- that he shook himself back awake and reached for the soap. How long had it been since he felt really _clean_? He scrubbed with fingernails, everywhere he could reach, when the fancy washcloth felt too soft to get the job done. The shampoo smelled a little weird, more like grass than soap, but it lathered richly, even in his tangled and greasy hair. He washed and rinsed his hair four times, or maybe five, digging at his scalp with his nails until the skin felt raw nearly to bleeding.

When he emerged from the shower, the mirrors showed him skin that glowed red, near-scalded by the hot water except where his scars stood out, starkly white. The beard looked pretty terrible, though, so he let his hair hang in limp strings, dripping water down his chest and back, while he hunted up the electric razor Tony had mentioned. It didn't do as good a job as a real razor would have, but at least Bucky couldn't nick himself with it when his arm trembled. By the time he was done (and had managed to get at least most of the curly brown clippings scooped into the trashcan), he thought he almost recognized the face in the mirror.

Bucky wasn't sure what he'd expected to find in the way of clothes, but it sure as hell wasn't a full wardrobe, enough clothes for what looked like a month, from sweatpants and t-shirts to a charcoal-gray suit that was richer than anything Bucky'd ever worn in his entire life. He snorted at it, wondering who'd thought he might need that. "Is Tony out of his damn mind?" he asked.

"Mr. Stark takes the comfort of his guests very seriously," JARVIS said, making Bucky start in surprise.

"Okay, sure, but-- Nah, never mind. I don't have to get all togged up for lunch, do I?"

"White tie was not specified, Sergeant."

Bucky snorted at that and yanked a pair of jeans off the rack. "You've got a hell of a mouth on you for a computer."

"Mr. Stark will be ever so pleased to hear it. Do allow me to know if you require assistance."

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky looked at the row of shirts hanging in the closet -- which by itself was nearly the size of the room he'd had as a kid. And huh, how about that, he'd remembered something else. He closed his eyes for a moment to steep in the memory; the soft golden light of an early morning, the smell of coffee and toast filtering into his nostrils and the sounds of his sisters squealing at some game, Ma chiding them for running indoors and calling Bucky to hurry and get ready for school before Steve arrived.

Steve again. How far back did that guy go, anyway? Pretty far, to hear Steve tell it.

Bucky sighed and opened his eyes to consider the shirts again. Buttons were a pain in the behind with only one hand, so he grabbed a t-shirt at random.

 


	6. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes moved, fast and deadly graceful (not unlike Natasha, actually), bunching his hand in Tony's shirt, his knuckles digging into the center of Tony's chest where the arc reactor used to be, his ice-blue eyes filling Tony's vision.
> 
>  _God, he's strong._ Tony had to admit to a flicker of fear, of doubt -- but if there was one thing Tony had perfected in the last few decades, as he rose through the ranks of cutthroat boardrooms, high-stakes politics, murderous terrorists, traitorous friends, and the utter chaos and mayhem of being an Avenger, it was how to keep uncertainty off his face.
> 
> "I could kill you in a heartbeat, you arrogant so-and-so," Barnes snarled.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Bucky Barnes?" Tony demanded when Barnes emerged from the elevator. He looked like a completely different person. If it hadn't been for the still-damp hair hanging in his face -- well, and the lack of alarm from JARVIS -- Tony might actually have suspected some sort of switchoff. Cleaned up, in fact, he looked pretty damn good, empty sleeve and all. Barnes froze, then realized that Tony was making a joke and snorted at him. Tony grinned. "Seriously," Tony said, "you look worlds better for a shower and a shave."

"I _feel_ worlds better," Barnes admitted.

"Yeah, you look almost human again."

Barnes' expression clouded. "Don't go making that mistake."

"Ah-ah, nope, no bringing down the mood before lunch," Tony chided, leading Barnes into the kitchen. "Hope you like Chinese." Tony had ordered enough for five or six people. Barnes' metabolism wasn't quite as souped-up as Steve's, but he did seem to run a little hotter than the average human.

Barnes shrugged. "I'm not picky."

Tony could almost see Barnes folding back into the role of a prisoner -- or worse, of an _asset_. He would eat what he was told to eat, because that's what there was. It was too soon to be overwhelming the man with too many choices, though, so Tony tried to play it cool. "Sure, but if you don't care for it, speak up, and we'll get something else next time, okay?"

"If you say so." Barnes eyed the table uneasily. "Who else is coming?"

"Mm." Tony grimaced as he reached into the cupboard for plates. Well, there was only so long he was going to have kept that secret. "As it turns out, it's just the two of us."

Barnes stared. He backed away a step, swayed, and grabbed for the back of a chair to steady himself. "Are you out of your goddamn mind, Stark?"

Tony eyed Barnes' face, rapidly draining of its color. _Oh._ This was it, then. Natasha had warned him that it would probably come to this, though she had thought it would take a bit longer. But Tony, quite honestly, would be just as glad to have it over with. He kept himself deliberately loose and easy. "Jury's still out."

Barnes moved, fast and deadly graceful (not unlike Natasha, actually), bunching his hand in Tony's shirt, his knuckles digging into the center of Tony's chest where the arc reactor used to be, his ice-blue eyes filling Tony's vision.

 _God, he's strong._ Tony had to admit to a flicker of fear, of doubt -- but if there was one thing Tony had perfected in the last few decades, as he rose through the ranks of cutthroat boardrooms, high-stakes politics, murderous terrorists, traitorous friends, and the utter chaos and mayhem of being an Avenger, it was how to keep uncertainty off his face.

"I could kill you in a heartbeat, you arrogant so-and-so," Barnes snarled. "You can't be alone with me! You can't trust me! I. Could. Kill. You."`

Tony stared back into Barnes' eyes. "Could. But won't."

"You can't know that."

"I can. I do." _Christ, look at the fear in those eyes._ Natasha had been so right, and Tony absolutely refused to think about how she had known.

"How? How can you know that?" Barnes whispered. He shook Tony in his grasp. "You're not even trying to get away from me."

"No. Because the programming doesn't know how to deal with this. Not very well." Tony was a showman; he kept his face confident, his tone warm and confiding, selling it, placing each word as precisely as he placed circuits. "The programming expects panic or resistance. By taking those things away, I'm making it easier for you to choose another path. Steve used the same strategy on the helicarrier, and you broke through then, too." Though Steve had been acting on instinct and grief and guilt at the time; it had been Natasha who had explained to them, later, why it had worked.

Barnes showed a flicker of a frown, then, trying to process that, trying to come to grips with the fact that Tony knew _exactly_ what he was doing. (Tony always did, even when what he was doing was trying to destroy himself.) "You..."

Tony waited for a moment, but Barnes didn't continue. "Your choice, Barnes, remember? From now on, _your choice_. You have, in fact, been choosing to fight the Winter Soldier programming for more than six months," Tony told him. "Ever since the very first time you didn't kill Steve."

Barnes flinched, just barely, at the name.

"You've been winning that fight. Even when you've lost battles to it, you keep coming back stronger and stronger." Tony lifted a hand, not to Barnes' wrist, but to his shoulder, moving slowly but smoothly. _Utter confidence_ , he reminded himself, and that was why Natasha had given this job to Tony, because Tony was the _only_ one of them who was showman enough to do it. "You have to keep making your own choices, but you can't always make them alone. Because if I don't choose to trust you, then you are never going to choose to be trusted."

Barnes' mouth tightened pugnaciously -- it was actually kind of cute, because Tony had already won, and Barnes _knew_ that Tony had already won, and was just getting stubborn now on principle. Tony let himself sag in Barnes' grip, just a little, affecting boredom. "Come on, Barnes, the food's getting cold. Either let me go or kiss me."

Barnes let out a startled laugh and released Tony's shirt. "Damn punk," he muttered.

Tony snorted and brushed down his shirt to smooth away the creases. "You'll find," he began, and then Barnes grabbed him again and planted a kiss right on his mouth.

Before Tony could even react -- or figure out _how_ to react -- Barnes had let go again. His eyes were twinkling and his lips curved in the grown-up version of the smirk he'd shown Tony at their first meeting. "Call me Bucky," he said, and turned away to start poking through the cartons on the table.

 


	7. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until Steve had asked whether Bucky had the hots for Tony, it hadn't actually occurred to Bucky that he _could_ look at Tony that way. Hadn't occurred to him that he could look at _anyone_ that way, to be honest.
> 
> And so it was, obviously, entirely Steve's fault.
> 
> Because now Bucky was sitting in Tony's workshop, surrounded by a million-and-one marvels and wonders, but all he could seem to focus on was Tony...

It was Steve's fault, Bucky decided.

As the Winter Soldier, his body's desires had been reduced to dry data with the sole purpose of keeping that body serviceable. Pain was useful data for gauging damage. Thirst had been useful data, and hunger; dehydration and malnutrition impeded the body's ability to function at peak performance. The Winter Soldier had been intimately familiar with differing levels of all three, so as to accurately analyze his own capabilities in any situation, knowing how far he could push himself before he failed to be useful. He had known, when in relative safety, to respond to this data, to preserve the asset which was his body (if it did not interfere with the mission), and so he had tended his injuries, had eaten and drunk when that was needed, no matter if it tasted of ash and snow.

Even with the Winter Soldier shoved (un)safely back into the dark corners of his mind, Bucky hadn't been paying much attention to the food they'd brought him. It had been merely fuel, far less important than chasing those sparks of memory that danced in the corners of his eyes.

But at lunch, Bucky had bitten unsuspectingly into some dish filled with little dried peppers that seared the inside of his mouth and his throat and made his eyes water with pain. And like the sudden flare of a match igniting in a dark room, Bucky realized that his tongue had remembered how to _taste_ again, and suddenly he couldn't get enough, no matter how badly it hurt. _Wanting_ , that had been, instead of merely _needing_ , and Bucky thought he had forgotten how to _want_. He'd finished the container straight from the box, too greedy to even pour the mess of meat and vegetables and sauce onto his plate, shoveling forkful after forkful into his mouth between gasping for air and gulping water in a more-or-less vain attempt to cool the fire of those peppers.

(Tony, already done eating, had just leaned back in his chair and watched, doing nothing to try to hide his laughter, even as Bucky had cursed him for it.)

Other desires, however, had been less useful. Lust, for example. Sexual desire might be pleasant or it might be uncomfortable, but nothing so trivial as pleasure or discomfort could affect the Winter Soldier's ability to function, and so such data had simply been disregarded. (It was possible, Bucky thought, that there had been something in the cocktail of drugs they used on him to keep his baser, less useful desires quiescent, but he had no way of knowing for certain.)

Even that recaptured memory of wanting Steve had been distant, like a window into someone else's dreams. Until Steve had asked whether Bucky had the hots for Tony, it hadn't actually occurred to Bucky that he _could_ look at Tony that way. Hadn't occurred to him that he could look at _anyone_ that way, to be honest.

And so it was, obviously, entirely Steve's fault.

Because now Bucky was sitting in Tony's workshop, surrounded by a million-and-one marvels and wonders, but all he could seem to focus on was Tony, working on Bucky's shoulder and so close that Bucky couldn't help but feel every puff of Tony's breath curling across his skin like warm fog.

Bucky couldn't help but notice every touch of Tony's fingers, callused but surprisingly gentle.

He couldn't help realizing that the way Tony had straddled the bench they were both sitting on meant Bucky was sitting in the vee of Tony's legs, and that the inside of Tony's thigh was pressed tightly against the outside of Bucky's own.

He couldn't help thinking about the kiss. Which was just stupid, because there hadn't been anything like lust in it at the time. Bucky'd been too angry, still, that Tony was being so casual about risking his life just to prove a goddamn point, and the kiss had just been Bucky's own point about calling Tony's goddamn bluffs. Not a damn thing to do with desire, with _wanting_. Except he was still thinking about it, the slightly scratchy tickle of Tony's facial hair and the soft give of his lips, and wondering, if he'd let it run just a bit longer, whether Tony would've responded--

"Hey," Tony said, jabbing Bucky's shoulder blade with some small, metal tool, "I really need you to hold still for this part."

Bucky was _not blushing_ , damn it. He'd lost his cherry eighty years ago. At least, he had if that memory could be believed. He kind of hoped that one was real; it had been nice, even if he still couldn't remember the dame's name. "Sorry, boss." It was all Steve's fault.

"Mm," Tony hummed noncommittally and went back to work on his shoulder, and in an effort to distract himself, Bucky tried to watch what Tony was doing out of the corner of his eye.

Much as it had hurt when Tony was taking the arm off, whatever he was doing now didn't so much as pinch. He hadn't even offered Bucky the anesthetic. He was positioning some sort of grooved metal wire around the curve of Bucky's shoulder, but it just laid gently on the surface of Bucky's skin. Tony was fussing with adjusting the precise shape of it.

"Where's the arm?" Bucky asked, finally.

"Don't move."

"I'm not moving. I'm talking. I thought we were putting on my arm. Where is it?"

"The old one? Scrap heap."

Bucky's thoughts skittered and stuttered over that. "Stark." It came out harsher and sharper than he'd intended, but the tone seemed to finally penetrate deep enough to snare Tony's attention.

Tony looked up, his gaze slightly fuzzy, as if his thoughts were a long way away. He blinked a couple of times before focusing on Bucky's face, and then shrugged. "I made a better one."

Bucky swallowed. A thousand questions and fears and threats tumbled toward Bucky's mouth, but were stopped by the sheer force of Tony's absolute faith in his own genius. Whatever other issues the man had -- and they appeared to be legion -- Tony trusted his own tech the way a normal man trusted the night to fall. Bucky drew a slow breath, and nodded. "Right. A better one." He blew out the breath slowly. "You ain't a doctor, though."

Momentary crisis averted, Tony went back to work. "I have three PhDs, actually," he answered, "and probably qualify for about four more."

"Any of 'em medical?"

Tony grinned, that damn cocksure grin that Bucky was coming to learn too well, far too many teeth for Bucky's comfort. "No. I've stitched my own wounds before, though, and talked my assistant through sticking her hand into a hole in my chest while I went into cardiac arrest, so I'm feeling pretty good about this one."

"Tony." Bucky's voice rose in a whine and while he wished it hadn't, he still felt kind of okay about that, given the situation. "That damn arm was literally screwed into my muscles and bones. And I'll grant you were a dab hand at cutting it free nice and clean. But attaching a new one isn't going to be--"

"Relax. Please." Tony poked him in the shoulder blade again, a little harder this time. "You're throwing off my measurements, and this really does have to be a perfect fit."

"Tony, I swear to fucking hell--"

"No surgery," Tony said. "There's no surgery required, here. I'm not cutting you open, not sewing or screwing anything. I didn't bring in a doctor because you don't _need_ a damn doctor. This is technology, all the way." He paused. "Well... at least eighty-seven percent of the way. Maybe seventy-three. Anyway, biotech isn't surgery."

Well. At least Bucky's inconvenient erection was gone. "Wanna break that down for me a bit? What the hell are you doing right now? What's this wire contraption for?"

Tony traced along the edge of the wire with one finger, and Bucky categorically refused to let himself feel it as a caress. "This," Tony said, "is a molybdenum-adamantium alloy frame, specially fabricated with a cross-radial polarization and a--"

He wasn't going to get to any words Bucky could understand anytime soon. "A frame to hold what?"

"Nanites." Tony breathed the word with a sort of pleased, rumbling purr that a regular guy would've reserved for talking about his best girl in a brand new, slinky dress.

Bucky absolutely did _not_ think about whether Tony used that same voice in the bedroom. "What the hell are--"

"Very, very tiny robots." Tony glanced up into Bucky's skeptical face, and grinned again, more naturally this time. "Sort of. Well, not really at all, but since you don't even have modern high school physics under your belt yet, there's only so precise I can be."

 _Yet_ , he said, like that was on the schedule for next Tuesday. Bucky snorted. "Okay, sure. And your tiny robots are, what, gonna build me a new arm?"

"God, you're so adorable with your Golden Age sci-fi notions. No. They're going to root themselves within the confines of the frame, provide a socket to hang the arm on, and establish a feedback loop with whatever's left of your nerves up here."

Bucky blinked, trying to process that. Tony took advantage of his sudden stillness to make a few more adjustments to the wire. Finally, Bucky ventured, "That sounds... maybe kinda painful."

Tony shrugged. "Shouldn't be. I've got a bunch of clusters of them embedded in my arms and legs that help me control my armor. The implants stung like a bitch, but the root process is just sort of pins-and-needles for a while. It's not _fun_ , but it shouldn't be painful. Nothing your boyfriend will feel the need to punch me over."

"Jesus, stop calling Steve my boyfriend or _I'm_ gonna punch you."

"Touchy." Tony was smirking again, goddammit, Bucky could hear it in his voice without even looking. "It's okay to admit you'd tap that, Buck; I have _literally_ met gods who were less well-put-together."

"Would've before the war," Bucky admitted. "Had the biggest fucking crush of my life on him from the time we were fourteen. Sort of surprised he never figured it out, really."

"Yeah?" Tony was doing something new with the wire whatsit, pressing it down into Bucky's skin while leaning back slightly to eye it critically. "So what happened?"

"Dunno," Bucky sighed. Steve had told Bucky a little about finding him in Hydra's clutches (the first time), but Bucky still couldn't remember it; every time he tried to reach for that memory, all he got were flashes of pain and terror and fire. His earliest memory of Steve as Captain America was at least two months later, planning a raid with the Commandos, and in that memory, Bucky's love for Steve was as fierce and loyal as ever -- but the lust, the _wanting_ , was gone, and he didn't know why. "Maybe big, brawny guys just aren't my type."

 


	8. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve was only grateful that no one else had been badly hurt. He'd taken a few bullets, himself, but Sam had managed to dig them out, and he could already feel the peculiar itch that was his accelerated healing at work. He'd be fine in a day or two, the scars gone within a week. Sam had broken a couple of fingers, and Steve suspected Nat had a broken rib, but she was pretending she didn't, and Steve was just tired enough to let her get away with it.
> 
> And sympathetic, too, because even if Steve didn't know the full extent of her relationship with Clint, he knew well enough that they _had_ a relationship, something that dwarfed mere friendship, and Clint... Clint was barely holding on to life, right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over Russian text for the translation, or check notes at the end.

Steve didn't think he'd ever been so damned glad to be done with a mission in his life. Not even the Chitauri invasion, because that had been brutal and terrifying, but it had also only lasted a few hours. It'd taken them that long just to get into the compound cellblock, and _of course_ something had gone wrong and the whole base had been alerted, and the fight they'd had to get back out had taken much, much longer. With a badly-wounded man in tow, no less, and Steve the only one of the team with anything like super powers. Not for the first time, he wished it was easier to get in touch with Thor.

Steve was only grateful that no one else had been badly hurt. He'd taken a few bullets, himself, but Sam had managed to dig them out, and he could already feel the peculiar itch that was his accelerated healing at work. He'd be fine in a day or two, the scars gone within a week. Sam had broken a couple of fingers, and Steve suspected Nat had a broken rib, but she was pretending she didn't, and Steve was just tired enough to let her get away with it.

And sympathetic, too, because even if Steve didn't know the full extent of her relationship with Clint, he knew well enough that they _had_ a relationship, something that dwarfed mere friendship, and Clint... Clint was barely holding on to life, right now. (Even Steve, a _mere friend_ , was still torn between feeling relieved they'd gotten to him in time, and being furious with himself for not having located the damn base sooner.) So if Nat felt that being with Clint was more important than getting her ribs properly taped, then Steve could give that to her, for at least as long as it took them to get back to the Tower.

The lights of New York twinkled on the horizon, and Steve let out a breath that he'd been half-holding since they'd taken off four hours ago. It was a good thing there hadn't been any pursuit, because he was barely an adequate pilot, and if he'd had to attempt evasive action, he'd have shaken the quinjet up hard enough to risk damaging their hard-won cargo. But seeing the lights of home gave him room to relax, just a little, though he was nearly too tired for his usual sense of wonder at thinking of Avengers Tower as "home", or his strange little band of misfits as "family".

A minute later, they were in range for team comms, and Steve flicked the switch on the console that would patch him through to the Tower. "You there, JARVIS?"

"As always, Captain. To whom shall I direct your call?"

"Tony, please."

"Certainly, Captain. One moment."

"You're the best, J."

There was a brief delay before Tony came online, which was fine because Steve had to check the traffic coming out of LaGuardia and lay in his path for the Tower.

"Rogers," Tony said, too smooth and easy to fool Steve. "Thought you'd be back a couple of days ago. What's your status?"

"Ran into a couple of hiccups, of course, but we got him back," Steve said, and smiled slightly at Tony's sigh of relief. "You're going to want to have Banner prep medical."

Steve could hear the tension and fear in Tony's voice, even if he was trying to keep it cool and professional over the comms (a little surprisingly, and, Steve suspected, an indication of just how worried he was). "How bad?"

"Just the one bed, but once he's got Barton situated, he'll have a little stapling and sewing to do on the others. Nothing major there."

"Got it. I'll have the elevator waiting at the landing pad. Get 'im settled, and we'll meet you in the common area. Hungry?"

"Too exhausted to be hungry tonight, but I'm gonna want about six cows' worth of burgers tomorrow," Steve joked tiredly.

Tony chuckled, humoring him -- God, Tony _had_ been worried -- and cut the line just in time for Steve to make his final approach.

Nat and Sam had Clint's stretcher ready to roll as soon as the quinjet's wheels touched down, and Steve could see the warm light of the elevator interior across the pad even as he started shutting down the engines; JARVIS not only had the elevator waiting, but was holding the door open. "Go on and take him in," Steve called back over his shoulder. "I'll go report."

The elevator was long gone by the time Steve jumped out onto the landing pad, and he didn't want to wait for it, so he jogged down the stairs to the common level. Clint's health was out of his hands now, and until this moment, Steve had been carefully not thinking about how badly he needed to see Bucky, to reassure himself that the whole thing hadn't been a hallucination.

Steve pushed through the doors, anxious and then immediately sheepish, because of course Bucky was there, his mouth smiling but with those little wrinkles around his eyes that he got when he didn't want to admit that he'd been fretting. The new arm hung at his side, gleaming, and Steve remembered that Tony had almost been done with it two weeks ago, which meant it'd probably been upgraded four or five times now, because Tony hated, _hated_ being sidelined.

Steve pulled to a halt, suddenly realizing he'd been gone two weeks -- two weeks, and Bucky had still been locked down in the Hulk Room when he'd left, he didn't know how much had changed or how he should act. Casual? Probably casual. "Hey, Buck. Sorry that took--"

Bucky snorted and pulled Steve into a hug. "C'mere, punk." The new arm curled around him as smoothly as the flesh one, and it felt good, so damn good. He dropped his head to Bucky's shoulder and held on tight for a moment, and then a moment longer.

And then Tony was there, rambling nonsense the way Tony always did and handing him a mug of something -- hot chocolate, really? Steve quirked a smile, but it smelled wonderful even if it was just the powered stuff with some extra marshmallows, so he took a sip as he stepped a little further into the wide room.

Bucky was eyeing Steve's torso -- or more precisely, he was eyeing the holes in Steve's uniform and the blood stains around them, his mouth pinching tight. "How bad didja get shot up this time?" he demanded.

And that -- that face and that tone were so familiar that Steve took a huge gulp of the too-hot chocolate because otherwise he was going to start crying right then and there. He swallowed the lump in his throat along with the chocolate and then confessed, "Four bullets, plus assorted nicks and scrapes. Nothing to worry about, it's all healing fine. I'll go down later and make sure it's cleaned out and bandaged and everything."

He took another gulp of the chocolate, trying to order his thoughts. There was something he'd been meaning to bring to Tony's-- ah. "Hey, Tony, they were using stolen Stark tech to keep their communications masked; that's why Nat had such a hard time tracking them down." He dug into a beltpouch and pulled out the chip they'd found, handed it over.

Tony cursed as he took it. "Should've taken me along after all, see?" he mumbled as he examined the chip. "Serial number's been filed off, even," he grumbled. "And this model hasn't been cleared for international sales yet, so... JARVIS, start compiling sales records for these encryption scatter units and everything they're a component in, over the last" --he eyed the circuit designs-- "fourteen months or so, and see if you can't hack the CIA and NSA's listings of compromised shipments. Maybe Interpol, too, I know they've got a whole unit that keeps track of my stuff."

"The sales records are being copied to your file now, sir, as are the domestic listings. Interpol's intelligence will take some few hours longer, as we had not previously negotiated their assistance." Steve wondered if he'd imagined the AI's slight hesitation before "negotiated", but then Bucky grinned, and heck if that wasn't a sight for sore eyes.

Tony tapped on his chest, agitated, then huffed out a sigh. "Yeah, fine, it's a priority but not an emergency, so don't bust a battery."

"Of course not, sir."

"Hmp." Tony tucked the chip into his pocket, and went back into the kitchen to set out more mugs. "Natasha and Sam be long, you think?"

"Not too long," Steve said. "Though I don't know if Nat'll come up or stay down there with Clint."

"Agent Romanov is on her way now, Captain," JARVIS said politely. "Mr. Wilson has volunteered to assist Dr. Banner in making Agent Barton comfortable."

"Well, that answers that," Steve said.

Tony started clattering around in the kitchen, making more chocolate, so Steve turned back to Bucky. "You look good, Buck," he said quietly. "How's the arm?"

Bucky grinned and held out the arm for Steve to examine. It was still jointed, silvery metal, but even Steve could see that these joints were finer, the articulation smoother. He pulled in close to examine the join at Bucky's shoulder -- it didn't seem to be pulling at the scar tissue the way the old arm had, either, though Steve wasn't sure if that had been the arm itself or an effect of the damage Steve had wrought on it. Steve let out a low whistle, absently registering the soft _ding_ of the elevator's arrival and Nat's light footsteps. "That's a mighty fine--"

And then everything began happening at once, almost too fast even for Steve's enhanced reflexes to keep up with.

\-- Bucky's eyes rounded and then narrowed tightly, his lips pulling back ferociously --

\-- "Tony, Bruce said to tell you" --

\-- a hard _shove_ from the metal arm, and, caught off-guard, Steve stumbled backward, away from the elevator, mug shattering as it hit the floor --

\-- a low hum as force shielding snapped into place at the doors and windows --

\-- Natasha dropped into a defensive crouch, gun in her hand but pointed at the floor --

\-- "Sir, defensive protocols have been" --

\-- Bucky lunged for the kitchen, a low, terrifying _growl_ sliding from his throat --

\-- _Fuck._ Steve threw himself toward the kitchen, hoping to get there before Bucky could hurt Tony, knowing he'd never make it in time --

\-- "Got it, JARV, shut up now." Tony's voice, tight but steady. --

\-- Steve swung through the doorway into the kitchen, shield already up --

\-- and stopped, staring.

Bucky was standing in the center of the kitchen, his whole body broad and low, ready to fight, a long kitchen knife in his right hand, the metal one bunched into a ready fist... and waiting, his back to Tony, who was in the far corner, eyes slightly wild and mouth pressed into a thin line, a mug of chocolate still in his hand. Steve blinked in confusion.

"Держитесь подальше," Bucky snarled, his eye on Nat.

"Я не угроза," Nat said gently. Slowly, carefully nonthreatening, she showed her gun's safety still engaged, and slid it back into its holster.

Bucky's shoulders and neck rolled like a serpent uncoiling, and his gaze flickered from Nat to Steve and back to Nat. Belatedly, and with a dawning sense of wonder, Steve realized that Bucky had positioned himself _between_ Tony and Nat. _Defending_ Tony from Nat. And the shove, that had been pushing Steve away from the line of fire, too, protective rather than hostile.

Bucky's voice was still a deep, threatening rumble. "Не подходи."

Natasha held out her empty hands, though her stance was still wary.

"Bucky," Tony said. Steve wanted to protest, wanted to shout at Tony not to draw Bucky's attention, but Tony caught Steve's eye and winked. He leaned back against the counter, terrifyingly vulnerable and apparently relaxed, though Steve could see the rapid flutter of pulse at Tony's throat that belied that casual stance. "Bucky, shake it off."

Bucky ignored him. "Я знаю тебя, Паук," he told Nat.

Nat nodded once, then cocked her head slightly. "Какова ваша миссия?"

Bucky hesitated.

"Bucky?" Steve said. "Come back to us, buddy."

Bucky's eyes skittered toward Steve, and he frowned. "Моя миссия..."

"You can do it," Tony said. "We're right here."

Bucky cast another glance at Steve, and then chanced a look over his shoulder at Tony.

Whatever Tony saw in Bucky's face made a light spark in his eyes. "It's okay," Tony said, very gently now. "You went deeper than you wanted, I know, but you've held it together. It's okay to come back." Tony held Bucky's gaze, steady and intent. "You haven't hurt anyone."

Steve had time to draw a breath, and then another. Then the knife clattered to the floor, and with it, Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian Translations:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Держитесь подальше =  _Stay away_  
>  Я не угроза =  _I'm not a threat_  
>  Не подходи = _Do not approach_  
>  Я знаю тебя, Паук =  _I know you, Spider_  
>  Какова ваша миссия?=  _What is your mission?_  
>  Моя миссия... = _My mission_...
> 
>  **Note:** My Russian all came directly from Google Translate, so I apologize in advance if it's horrible. (If that's the case and you'd like to suggest corrections, by all means let me know and I'll update!)
> 
> * Special thanks to Fix Tatsuo for helping me correct my (well, Google's) Russian!


	9. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Immediately following Chapter 8.)
> 
> Natasha and Tony were friendly, but they weren't entirely friends, yet. They liked each other, but neither one of them trusted easily. Normally, Natasha's ribs would wait -- for Bruce, who despite being a biochemist had become the Avengers' _de facto_ doctor, or for Steve, whom Natasha trusted nearly as much as she trusted Clint.
> 
> But she was going to need to make Tony drop some of his walls for this conversation, which meant she would have to push him off-balance. She smiled, slightly. Working Tony was fun. He was smart enough, had seen her in action often enough, to understand the way she worked, sometimes, and to resist or counterbalance her. He was a challenge, and Natasha enjoyed a challenge.
> 
> So: she would be vulnerable for him, just a bit.

Natasha slowly straightened. Tony and Steve both started to reach for Barnes -- and wasn't that interesting? -- and then Tony checked and pulled back, letting Steve kneel beside his shivering friend.

Tony glanced up and met Natasha's eyes. He gave her a pale little smile. "Welcome home," he said, and his voice was nowhere near as smooth as it had been a moment ago. Hardly surprising; they all knew that Tony was great in a crisis -- Tony was _amazing_ in a crisis, if Natasha was forcing herself to be honest -- but he did not do well with aftermath.

"JARVIS, I believe we're done now; release containment," he said, and Natasha thought she heard the faintest crackle from the elevator door.

"It's been an eventful two weeks," she said. She lifted an eyebrow, questioning.

Tony shook his head, then shrugged. "Maybe for you. This is the most excitement we've seen since you left."

Natasha looked at Steve and Barnes. Steve was talking, quiet and low, and Barnes was ignoring him, still curled into a tight ball and shivering. Then she looked at Tony, whose hands were starting to shake with adrenaline letdown. She pursed her lips, considering her options, then nodded to herself. "Come back into the gym with me," she told Tony. "I've got a cracked rib that needs taping, and Bruce is going to be busy for a while."

She walked away without waiting for him to argue or agree.

Natasha and Tony were friendly, but they weren't entirely friends, yet. They liked each other, but neither one of them trusted easily. Normally, Natasha's ribs would wait -- for Bruce, who despite being a biochemist had become the Avengers' _de facto_ doctor, or for Steve, whom Natasha trusted nearly as much as she trusted Clint.

But she was going to need to make Tony drop some of his walls for this conversation, which meant she would have to push him off-balance. She smiled, slightly. Working Tony was fun. He was smart enough, had seen her in action often enough, to understand the way she worked, sometimes, and to resist or counterbalance her. He was a challenge, and Natasha enjoyed a challenge.

So: she would be vulnerable for him, just a bit.

Natasha retrieved the first aid kit from the back of the gym and sat on the nearest bench, stripping off her shirt and beginning to unfasten her armor. Tony followed her in, shut the door -- of course he knew this wasn't about her ribs -- and started to dig through the kit for bandages and tape.

She peeled the armor down to her hips. Tony looked at the telltale bruises under her breasts and winced in sympathy. He hadn't leered at her since she'd stopped being Natalie Rushman, but she always half-expected him to, and it always surprised her, just a little, when he didn't. Instead, he glanced at her for permission, then began probing delicately at her sides, feeling for the extent of the damage before he started ripping out long strips of tape.

"So that was an interesting little moment," she opened.

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "It was pretty fucking terrifying," he said. "Sit up straighter."

Natasha complied, letting herself grimace in pain as she raised her arms over her head. "Yes, I imagine seeing the Winter Soldier coming at you in close quarters would be pretty sca-- _ow!_ \-- pretty scary."

Tony grunted an apology but didn't loosen the tape, which Natasha would probably appreciate more when the job was done. "First of all, that wasn't really the full extent of Winter Soldier programming," he said, pulling out another strip. "I think that's already mostly unraveled. And second of all, he didn't come at me. I was afraid he was going to attack _you_ before we could call him off."

He met her eyes as he said it, and she could see that he meant it. He really hadn't feared for his own life. And while she disagreed with his assessment of the Winter Soldier's programming -- Tony insisted on thinking of it in terms of a computer virus, which was actually a pretty terrible metaphor -- she thought that Tony's general lack of _fear_ of the Winter Soldier would continue to serve Barnes as well as anything else they could do for him.

It had been Clint's utter refusal to fear _her_ , after all, that had convinced her to defect with him.

Best not to think about Clint right now, not yet.

Tony stretched another layer of tape around her, tight enough to make her hiss. "Why'd seeing you make him panic?" he asked.

"What?"

"He's heard your name, and your codename. He's heard your voice. Why did _seeing_ you tip him off?" Tony stretched out another strip of tape, but kept his eyes on her face.

"I really don't--"

"Genius, Natasha, I'm a genius. Also, I've seen your file. I'm not naive enough to think it's complete, but let's skip the part where you treat me like an idiot, okay?"

She waited until he'd laid the tape down. "We were on a couple of the same missions, when I was... Before. It's probably the way I move rather than the name or the voice that triggered a memory."

Tony nodded, as if he'd already worked it out. Which -- he _was_ a genius -- was probably true. "Cap know?"

"I haven't told him. But he's not an idiot, either."

"Mm." Tony laid down more tape, then leaned back and eyed her midriff, tapping on his chest. Natasha watched. It had started as a nervous tic, but she was half-convinced that it had evolved over the years into a pattern or code of some sort that she might be able to unravel, if she could just collect enough data.

"Feels good," she opined. "Can I put my arms down?"

"Yeah, I think it'll hold until you can get someone with actual medical training to look at it," Tony said, with a smirk that said he knew damned well she wasn't going to let anyone else touch her until it was healed.

Natahsa left the armor hanging around her hips -- she wasn't planning on going anywhere but back to her quarters -- but pulled her shirt back on while Tony packed the tape back into the first aid box. She waited until he'd straightened again before she asked, "Are you sleeping with him?"

It took him by surprise, which she'd meant for it to do. She was watching for reactions ranging from disinterest to guilt to smug pleasure; what she saw instead was flat, searing anger. "Jesus, Romanov," he breathed. That soft tone was so at odds with the heat in his eyes that it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "I know I'm an asshole, but I thought you knew me better than _that_."

She cocked her head slightly, letting her eyes round, pulling out cues for helplessness and innocence to file the sharp edges from Tony's anger. "So that's a no, then. Okay. But I don't think it would make you an asshole, Tony. You're going to have to explain that one to me."

Tony actually gaped at her, then closed his mouth with an audible _click_ of teeth. "What, seriously?" he growled. He slammed the first aid box closed ( _still angry, but less dangerously so_ ) and stood. "Stockholm Syndrome does not exactly make for enthusiastic consent." He had not, she noted, tried to deny his interest.

Natasha remained seated, granting him the advantage of height to keep his defensiveness in check. "Stockholm Syndrome doesn't really apply here," she said. "We're not holding him hostage, or torturing him." She cocked her head a little further, considering it. "If he was psychologically susceptible to Stockholm Syndrome, he'd probably have integrated with Hydra better, actually, and found it harder to break the programming."

Tony's eyes were narrowed, and his fingers twitching. He was thinking about it.

"Tony," she sighed, "you're the only person here who doesn't want him to change who he is."

Tony frowned. "Steve--"

"Wants his old friend back, and it's going to take time -- and it's not ever going to be one hundred percent. Steve is going to have to learn who the new Bucky Barnes is. Which he can't do until _Barnes_ knows who the new Bucky Barnes is. It's going to take a lot of time."

"Steve will wait as long as it takes," Tony pointed out.

Natasha nodded. "Yes. But in the meantime, Barnes knows that Steve is waiting for it, feeling that pressure. The rest of us are less pressure, because he doesn't owe us anything, because all we want is for him to shake off the Winter Soldier's programming -- but it's a heavy weight on him, nonetheless."

Tony snorted. "I'm right on board with the whole 'shake off the programming' plan, in case you hadn't noticed."

Natasha shook her head. "No. You're trying to help him _integrate_ it. You're letting him know that he does not have to throw away any part of himself that he wants to keep." She smiled at Tony, a gentle, approving smile that was one of the deadliest weapons she had against Tony Stark. "Do you know how long I was with SHIELD before I figured that out, even with Clint helping me every step of the way? You're a small miracle to him."

Tony shook his head hard, frowning. Rejecting his own goodness, the way Tony always did. "You haven't even been here," he protested. "You have no idea--"

Natasha stood up, then. "I know," she assured him. "I need you to trust my skillset, Tony. I am not a genius, but I know more than you ever will about this. He recognized the deadliest assassin he'd ever met, bar only himself, and he pushed Steve out of the line of fire. And then he stood directly in my path, armed with nothing but a kitchen knife, to protect _you_."

She laid a hand on Tony's cheek, and he froze, his eyes widening in surprise, because Natasha almost never touched him -- almost never touched _anyone_ \-- outside of a mission. "I'm not saying you should," she murmured softly, "or even that it would be a good idea, because there are too many variables, and I don't know. But I don't think it would be a _bad_ idea. For either of you."

She could feel Tony's eyes on her as she walked away. As she neared the door, he called, "Steve would murder me, you know. Like, he would murder me with just two fingers, so he could draw it out as long as possible. You know that, right?"

Natasha laughed, not turning around. "I'll handle Steve, if it comes to that," she said, and left.


	10. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Widow had come once. She had not spoken, but looked down on him in the bed for a few minutes. Bucky had moved his gaze from the counting numbers to look into her expressionless face, and then deliberately closed his eyes, hoping she would kill him before he could react in instinctive defense. But she had brushed the hair from his face with gentle fingers, and then kissed his forehead like a benediction. When he'd opened his eyes again, she was gone.

Bucky laid on the enormous bed and stared at the ceiling.

There were numbers projected there, a soothing blue, counting upward. He'd asked JARVIS for them the first night he'd tried to sleep there, two and a half weeks ago. He'd thought of them as a reassurance, then, that he wouldn't hurt anyone. So many days and hours and minutes and seconds since he'd last descended beneath the murk of the Winter Soldier.

When Steve had brought him back to his room, he'd seen that the numbers had been reset (00:00:42:37) and known that they were a reminder that he was always going to be a danger. He hadn't asked JARVIS to turn them off. He needed to remember.

He got up once in a while to scrounge a little food, drink something, go to the bathroom. Steve came in every so often and sat for an hour or so. Sometimes he tried to talk, but Bucky wouldn't answer. Sometimes he just sat, and Bucky still didn't answer.

Sam Wilson had come once. He'd talked for half an hour about guilt and responsibility and loneliness and the need to connect, but he hadn't acted even once as if he expected or even wanted Bucky to respond to him, or even necessarily listen to him. Bucky supposed he was grateful for that.

The Black Widow had come once. She had not spoken, but looked down on him in the bed for a few minutes. Bucky had moved his gaze from the counting numbers to look into her expressionless face, and then deliberately closed his eyes, hoping she would kill him before he could react in instinctive defense. But she had brushed the hair from his face with gentle fingers, and then kissed his forehead like a benediction. When he'd opened his eyes again, she was gone.

Tony had come three times, and all three times, Bucky had feigned sleep, though he wasn't certain he would ever sleep again. He couldn't stand the idea of looking into Tony's eyes and seeing the warmth there choked and chilled.

The third time, Tony watched Bucky pretending to sleep for a good ten minutes. Bucky heard the hollow thump of his fingers against his chest. _I'm sorry_ , Bucky wanted to say. _I'm sorry you were wrong about me._

"Okay," Tony said quietly, and then he left.

Bucky opened his eyes and looked at the numbers on his ceiling: 02:18:26:07.

#

"Sergeant," JARVIS said, "I have been asked to inform you that you have an appointment with Mr. Stark for routine maintenance to your arm in two hours."

"Cancel it," Bucky said. His voice was rough from disuse.

"I'm afraid that's not within my permitted functions," JARVIS said.

"I'm not going anywhere," Bucky said.

JARVIS did not answer.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony came in. Bucky heard his tread through the living room, and pretended to be asleep.

"Not even believable," Tony announced as he came into the bedroom. "Come on, you got a good three-day sulk in. I get it, I like a good sulk as much as the next guy, but your time is up."

Bucky sighed, abandoning the pretense but not moving, not opening his eyes. "Not sulking," he protested.

Tony snorted. "Yeah, that little whine really sells it," he promised. The mattress dipped as Tony sat down.

"Go away, Tony."

"Mm, no." Tony scooted closer, gave the metal arm a proprietary caress, and Bucky suppressed a shiver. The new arm was much more sensitive to touch than the old one had been; the sensations almost felt real. "Come on," Tony said, "up and at 'em. You need a shower, and I have another appointment before yours to get to. You can come with me."

"Go to your damn appointment. I'm not going anywhere."

"Seriously, you stink. Get up and take a shower."

"No." God, why was he even answering?

Tony sighed and picked up the arm, began pulling. For all that he lacked Steve's bulk, Tony's wiry frame was accustomed to hefting armor and car engines, and Bucky felt himself being pulled upright.

"Goddammit, you're gonna break it," Bucky snapped.

"I'll make you a new one," Tony said with what Bucky knew was another one of those shit-eating grins. "Or you could just sit up and stop fighting me. Christ, you're like a recalcitrant four-year-old."

"Most four-year-olds haven't tried to kill anyone lately."

"That's not the way the company daycare director tells it," Tony said cheerfully. "Vicious little bastards, four-year-olds. Way worse than _you_ , creampuff, with your manly bluster and posturing but not actually doing a damn thing."

Bucky finally succeeded in jerking his arm back out of Tony's grasp. He fell back on the bed and threw the arm over his eyes.

"Bucky, look at me right now, or so help me I will go get Steve and between us we will haul you into the bathroom and give you a bath just like the four-year-old you are."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. I'd do it just for the opportunity to casually let it slip in a meeting that Steve and I took a shower together."

Bucky tried not to laugh, but some of it slipped out anyway. "Fuck, you're impossible."

"Just very improbable," Tony said. "Come on, let me see those baby blues."

Reluctantly, Bucky moved the arm and opened his eyes.

Tony looked terrible.

"You look terrible," Bucky told him.

Tony grinned. "Aw, that's sweet, but you should probably save that level of flattery for our second date."

Tony... was just Tony. He was half-leaning on Bucky's side, making himself comfortable. No hesitation. No doubt. No withdrawal. Every bit of the warmth and mischief in those brown eyes that Bucky had come to rely upon. Something icy inside him began to thaw. "What makes you think you'd ever get to a second date?" he challenged.

"My boundless charm, undeniable good looks, and smokin' hot ride," Tony said, smirking. He slapped Bucky's hip sharply. "Get up. Shower. My appointment is in" --he pulled out his phone to check the time-- "thirty-five minutes, so make it snappy."

Bucky groaned and sat up. "If I promise to come down on time for you to take my arm apart, will you go away and let me have the whole hour and a half?"

"Nope, you got that chance already and blew it. You're stuck with me now." Tony bounced off the bed. "I'll wait in the living room, but I'm coming in after you at T-minus ten." He sauntered off, leaving the door open behind him.

Goddammit.

Bucky could shower, shave, and dress out for parade inspection in less than ten minutes if he needed to, so he didn't rush too much. He had to admit that it felt good to shower. He dripped through the room and into the closet, where he found loose jeans and a tank that would expose his arm for Tony to work on it without making him strip half-naked.

He came out of the closet to find Tony leaning in the doorway.

Tony looked him over and his lips flickered with a smile Bucky hadn't seen before. "Looking good," he said. "Put some shoes on and let's go."

In the elevator, Tony said, "Wanna tell me why you've been sulking for three days?"

Bucky didn't look at him. "Pretty sure I remember you being there."

"You remember it? How much of it?" Tony sounded surprised.

Bucky shoved his hand through his hair and scratched at his neck. "Whole damn thing. Couldn't turn it off. Just saw her comin' and knew you had no chance and..." He shrugged, miserably. "Couldn't break through until I heard you and Steve calling me back, and." He swallowed hard and risked a glance at Tony in the mirrored walls.

Tony didn't look disappointed, or even pitying. He looked as pleased as punch, actually. "That's new," he said excitedly. "Being able to remember, that's new, right? And the protectiveness, yeah, that's new, too." He drummed on his chest. "That's good. That's an excellent sign."

"Tony, I _lost_ again. I could've killed someone."

"But you didn't," Tony sing-songed as the elevator dinged to a stop. Tony grabbed his arm and all but pulled him down a hallway and into a laboratory of some sort. "The thing is," Tony said, "every single one of us has something we wish had never been. The details vary, the degree, but we've all got something we wish we could take back.

"Natasha's got her whole sordid background. Thor was a bloodthirsty son of a bitch for a while, too. I was a weapons designer so successful the media named me the Merchant of Death. Cap... he's the most blameless of us, but every death he's part of weighs on him pretty heavily, whether he'll cop to it or not. Bruce's most famous and third-most important contribution to the team is a giant ball of rage--"

"Wow, your motivational speeches suck, Tony," said Dr. Banner, emerging from behind a curtain at the back of the lab. He clapped Tony on the shoulder in greeting, nodded politely to Bucky.

"You're not supposed to insult me, Bruce," Tony pouted. "You saved my life. I'm pretty sure that makes you my bitch."

"Fairly certain you have that backwards, actually," Banner said with an indulgent smile.

Bucky had met Banner about a week ago. After several days of meals with Tony and Banner together in which they'd jabbered science at each other more or less nonstop, Bucky's primary impression of the guy was of a steady boulder calmly ignoring the noise of Tony's whirlwind. When he'd mentioned that impression to Tony later, Tony had laughed delightedly and said, "Yeah, well, the wind does eventually wear down the mountains."

"How's our patient today?" Tony was asking.

"Awake, finally," Banner said. "And cranky."

Tony rounded his eyes in faux surprise. "Barton, cranky? Alert the press!"

Banner smiled tiredly. "I'm just glad he's awake enough to be cranky."

Tony winked at Bucky and raised his voice slightly. "And Hawkeye in there, the first time we met--"

"Stark," bellowed a voice from behind the curtain, "if you finish that sentence I will personally cut off your balls and feed them to a coffee grinder!"

"So, not too much lung damage, then," Tony said brightly. He headed in the direction of the voice, and since his hand was still wrapped around Bucky's metal wrist, Bucky followed.

The man in the bed did not look like he should be capable of bellowing anything. He did not look like he should be _conscious_ , for that matter. Bucky had seen corpses with better color -- what little Bucky could see of his color under the purple-green bruises and red-stained bandages.

"So this is Hawkeye," Tony said, tone still airy. "Clint, you bastard, did you lose that bow I made you?"

"Nope, I know 'xactly where it is," Barton said, his voice slightly mushy around his swollen jaw and split lips. "Left it in Solsten's lungs after she shot me." Barton's eyes, barely visible under the bruises, dragged over Bucky, pausing for only a fraction of a second at Tony's grip on Bucky's arm. "Got the sitrep from Bruce this morning, so I guess you're Barnes, yeah?"

Bucky nodded. "I'd offer to shake, but it looks like a firm grip would rip your hand right off."

Barton grimaced. "Tell Banner I'm not lollygagging around in bed for more than two weeks, okay? And that's only because of the leg. Extended bedrest gives me hives."

Tony snorted, and if Bucky couldn't feel the tremor of Tony's hand on his arm, he might even have believed the nonchalant air. "You feel free to try to talk him into that if you want to have the Hulk as a bedside visitor. I'm not that dumb. On the other hand, maybe if you're good, I'll make you a new bow."

"You're gonna make me a new bow anyway," Barton said, smug. "Otherwise, who's going to keep Natasha from killing you in your sleep?"

Bucky shivered, and Tony's grip tightened reassuringly. Barton's eyes flickered to Tony's grip, and then he looked up at Bucky again, and the amusement fell from his face to be replaced by exhaustion and pain. "Barnes, listen. Don't listen to the stories Tony tells you, but Nat and me. We know what it's like to... to be unmade. Yeah? Best revenge is to live free."

Bucky nodded, unsure what the injured man meant or how to respond, and Tony's hand on his arm was trembling harder now. Barton closed his eyes, and Tony backed away, finally releasing Bucky. He walked swiftly back through the laboratory, catching Banner's eye long enough to say, "He's asleep," and then pushed out into the hallway, down two doors and into a bathroom. Bucky stopped outside the bathroom, hesitating.

A few seconds later, he heard the sound of retching.


	11. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sounds reasonable," Tony admitted. He picked up an imager so JARVIS could pull a more detailed view for the failure chart, then started screwing the access panel back into place. "And you're telling me about it, why?"
> 
> "Dunno," Bucky admitted. "Confession is good for the soul?"
> 
> Tony laughed as he fitted the last of the screws. "I am pretty much the exact opposite of a priest."
> 
> "And thank God for that," Bucky muttered, shivering as Tony ran a thumb over the panel seal to make sure it was flush.
> 
> "Meaning what, exactly?"
> 
> "Meaning... Oh, hell. Meaning this." And Bucky grabbed the front of Tony's shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.

Fuck, fuck, oh _fuck_ , that had nearly been a disaster. Tony heaved again, though he was pretty sure his stomach was as empty as it was going to get. _Fuck, Clint_. It had been bad enough when Clint was unconscious, but awake had been infinitely worse.

Clint Barton was supposed to be compact strength and shoulders like liquid iron. He was eyes that missed nothing and a "dumb sniper" act that gulled everyone until he dropped the final piece into the puzzle that even Tony and Bruce hadn't spotted. He was snark and sass over the comms and absolutely perfect cover fire and jumping off of fucking buildings without warning Tony first that he needed a ride. He was hiding in the vents and falling asleep on the couch during movies and having better stories for his scars than everyone else combined. He was juvenile pranks and horrible food choices and endless bickering until one of them needed him at their back and then by god Clint Barton _had their fucking back_.

He wasn't supposed to be tired out by a five-minute conversation. He wasn't supposed to be pale from blood loss, wrapped head-to-toe in bandages that were still seeping red three days after they'd brought him home. He wasn't supposed to accept a recovery period of more than two _hours_ , never mind two weeks. He wasn't supposed to admit, ever, _ever,_ to having been unmade. He wasn't supposed to be so _broken_.

_Fuck._

A warm hand closed on his shoulder. "C'mon, boss," Bucky said softly. "Let's get out of here."

Tony let Bucky lead him back to the elevator. He forced himself to straighten up, but one glance in the mirrored wall at his greenish cast and red-rimmed eyes told him that if they encountered anyone else, he was screwed. He scrubbed at his face. "Might as well go straight to the workshop, JARVIS," he said.

"Yes, sir." The elevator started to move.

"You're in no shape to work on the arm right now," Bucky said, curling his human hand around his metal elbow protectively.

Tony snorted. "Nope, but I've got some other projects that'll do until I can pull myself together. Or maybe Pepper's sent me some paperwork. Mindless paperwork sounds like it might actually be good. I'll teach you how to do my signature; you can help."

Bucky laughed, and thank god there was no pity in it. "Pretty sure you don't want me able to forge your signature, Tony."

"Yeah, probably not. On the other hand, if you decided you wanted to do it, there probably isn't much I could do to stop you."

"There's that," Bucky allowed.

The elevator doors opened and Tony spilled out into his haven. The workstation called to him, dancing lights hanging over the surface to tell him of messages received and data gathered and diagnostics completed and simulations run. He gestured toward the coffeepot. "Go make yourself useful, and then get comfortable."

Work had always been healing. Tony pushed all the pain and fear and uncertainty of the last few days to the back of his mind and reached out to pick up a handful of twinkling stars.

#

He was working on narrowing the field on the stolen encryption chip, pulling common threads together and building probability analyses, when he became aware that someone was talking to him.

"--or four hours now, Tony, and if you're not gonna work on my arm, I could use a snack, maybe?"

Tony blinked, letting the numbers dancing behind his eyes fade away to reveal pale human vision. "What?"

Bucky grinned. "That was sure something to see," he said. He leaned sideways a little, apparently watching to see if Tony was tracking him yet. "Gettin' kinda hungry, here. Or there's the arm. Whichever you wanna do first."

"Right, food. Yes. You sulked through breakfast and lunch." He checked the time. "And we missed dinner. We should probably eat." Tony collapsed the holofile and tossed it back to the workstation. "Save our progress, JARVIS, and tell me there's something edible down here besides DUM-E's smoothies."

Two weeks ago, Bucky would never have interrupted Tony at work to ask for food, but Tony kept that gleeful observation to himself. They found some fruit that DUM-E hadn't pureed yet, and a handful of protein bars. Tony scarfed down one of the bars and then set to work on the arm while Bucky finished eating.

To be honest, the arm didn't need much in the way of maintenance, just an occasional check for wear-and-tear, since it was new tech and Tony didn't have enough data points for a failure model yet. A quick scan from JARVIS would tell him everything he needed to know. But he liked tinkering with beautiful things he'd built, and he thought that Bucky would probably benefit more from the personal, hands-on approach. (He'd lost Pepper before learning that lesson, but by god he had it down now.)

But it wasn't a job that required the deep headspace he needed when he was working on his armor or something new, and so he was actually mostly listening when Bucky said, "Think I figured out where I lost my crush on Steve."

Where that had come from, Tony had no idea, but he made an encouraging noise around the screwdriver stuck in his mouth.

"I uncovered some new memories. Not. Nothing important, nothing big. Just some stuff from the war, with the Commandos and stuff. And I've had a lot of time to think in the last few days."

"Sulking," Tony supplied, smirking as he shifted the access panel and removed the last screw, dropping it and the screwdriver on the holding magnet.

" _Not_ sulking," Bucky said, but he sounded like he was trying to suppress a grin, so Tony just kept working. "And..." Bucky drew a breath, then heaved it out in a sigh. "Promise me this won't get back to Steve, okay?"

Bucky actually sounded more nervous than he'd been when talking about having a hard-on for Steve, which certainly engaged _Tony's_ curiosity. Tony glanced at Bucky's face, but he was staring resolutely at the floor. "I had a Level 6 clearance with SHIELD for the Avengers Initiative and I still have a Top Secret with the DoD for Stark Industries," Tony said. "Strange as it may seem, I can keep my mouth shut when I need to."

"Mm." Bucky did not sound terribly impressed by Tony's working clearances, but he took another deep breath and said, guiltily, "I was... jealous."

Tony checked the integrity of the wire bundle closest to the access panel, then pushed it aside. "Because?"

"He wasn't mine anymore. I mean, before the war, he never asked me for a goddamn thing, not once, but he didn't _have_ to, because he already knew I'd give him the shirt off my back. I protected him, I stepped in when he was getting beat up, I made sure he got meds when he was sick, I dug up jobs for him, I got dates for him. He was _mine_ , and I was gonna take care of him, no matter what."

About four different sarcastic comments sprang to Tony's mind about friendship vs. ownership and how helping someone didn't entitle you to anything for their gratitude, but Tony bit them back. Bucky _hadn't_ expected or asked for anything from Steve in return for his friendship, even if he had hoped, and that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

Bucky swallowed, hard. "Still don't remember the first time I saw him, after they turned him into fucking Captain America. But lately, I kind of remember _thinking_ about it, which is a weird-ass echo, let me tell you, remembering a memory that I don't have. And I remember thinking... we'd switched places. He got me my spot on the Commandos. He was lugging me into the med tent when I got injured. He was jumping in front of every bully Europe had and knocking 'em flat. The dames couldn't even _see_ me when he was in the room.

"And I guess, in some cosmic sense, that was only fair, right? 'Cause we'd spent so long the other way around. But I couldn't... It was hard to stomach, knowing he didn't need me anymore. That he wasn't mine."

Tony peered at the servos in the elbow and made Bucky move the arm so he could watch their movement. "Yeah," he hummed thoughtfully, "but I'm pretty sure he felt that _you_ were _his_ , and none of that super-soldier stuff was going to change that."

"I'm not so dumb I didn't know that," Bucky sighed. "And eventually I came around. Got over myself, that's the phrase, right? It took a couple of months, but I did. He's my best friend, and I'd still give him the goddamn shirt off my back if he needed it, without him having to ask. But I'm pretty sure it's somewhere in there that the _wanting_ went away."

"Sounds reasonable," Tony admitted. He picked up an imager so JARVIS could pull a more detailed view for the failure chart, then started screwing the access panel back into place. "And you're telling me about it, why?"

"Dunno," Bucky admitted. "Confession is good for the soul?"

Tony laughed as he fitted the last of the screws. "I am pretty much the exact opposite of a priest."

"And thank God for that," Bucky muttered, shivering as Tony ran a thumb over the panel seal to make sure it was flush.

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning... Oh, hell. Meaning this." And Bucky grabbed the front of Tony's shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.

This. This was not anything like the "fuck off" kiss Bucky had given him two weeks ago. This was, this was more of a "fuck me" kiss, and it caught Tony completely, utterly by surprise.

But not for long. Tony's hand curled around the back of Bucky's head and his mouth opened under Bucky's lips. Bucky hesitated not at all in accepting that tacit invitation. His tongue invaded Tony's mouth, tasting his lips and teeth before tangling with Tony's tongue.

Bucky tasted of fruit and metal and salt, and Tony couldn't get enough. He tightened his hand in Bucky's hair, and Bucky let out a sound that shot straight to Tony's cock. His other hand came up to grab Bucky's shirt and Tony swung his leg up and over so he was sitting right on Bucky's lap, straddling Bucky's legs.

Bucky's metal arm wrapped tight around Tony's back while his human arm roamed everywhere it could reach with a sort of giddy exuberance. Bucky caught Tony's bottom lip in his teeth and scraped over it, biting down just at the end, and Tony's whimper sent a shudder through Bucky's torso. "God, Tony," Bucky breathed, "Tony, just... _God_."

Tony laughed softly and pulled at Bucky's hair to expose his neck. Tony's mouth closed just behind Bucky's ear and then worked slowly downward, searching for sensitive spots and exploiting them mercilessly whenever Bucky revealed them with a shiver and a hiss, lipping and biting and licking until Bucky was gasping out incomplete, incoherent phrases. "Oh, shit, that-- God, _yes,_ right there don't-- Tony, shit, shit, please, Tony--"

When Tony sucked at the base of his throat, just at the hollow of his collarbone, Bucky's hips jerked, grinding their cocks together through their clothes. " _Fuck_."

Tony hummed with pleasure and licked over the spot again, delighting in Bucky's responsiveness, his shuddering and his uninhibited noises. Bucky's human hand found the bottom hem of Tony's t-shirt and began to work it upward, and Tony rumbled out a purr when Bucky's fingers brushed over his skin.

Tony covered Bucky's mouth again, and Bucky all but devoured him. Tony leaned back into the solid strength of the metal arm at his back and let Bucky plunder his mouth.

He was so drunk on sensation that the sound of the workshop door opening registered only belatedly. "Hey, Tony, JARVIS said that you and Buck--"

Tony froze. Maybe. Maybe if he kept his eyes focused right on the pulse point of Bucky's neck and didn't turn around to look, it would turn out to be a hallucination. It was a miniscule, infinitesimal, but non-zero possibility. _Yes. Just don't look, and maybe--_

Bucky lifted his head, and froze.

 _Dammit_. Tony swallowed. "That's Steve, isn't it?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Bucky rasped.

In the sudden, echoing silence that seemed much louder than it had been a moment ago, Tony heard footsteps retreating, and the soft slide of the automated doors somehow managed to convey a slam.

Tony straightened and dropped his forehead to Bucky's. "I am so very, very dead," he muttered.

Bucky grinned. "At least we were still dressed?"

Tony snorted, then reluctantly slid off Bucky's lap. "Go talk to him. Let him tell you what a horrible, terrible mistake this is and talk you out of it."

Bucky caught Tony's wrist before he could retreat into the back of the workshop. "Hey, I'm a big boy. I can make my own horrible, terrible mistakes."

Tony slanted a look at Bucky's face. Bucky's mouth was pulling tight, mulishly, like he was already spoiling for a fight. Tony grinned (even if it felt a bit stretched) and ducked to kiss him quickly. "He's your best friend, Buck. Go calm him down and let him try to talk you out of it. In the event he's unsuccessful, I'll still be here."

"I don't even know where--"

"I'd try the gym."


	12. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No harm done," Bucky said easily. "I was all for leaving you to it, but he told me to come check on you."
> 
> "And you're following his orders now?" Steve winced. "No, sorry, I didn't mean--"
> 
> "Kinda think you did, actually," Bucky said. He came into the room and nudged the door shut behind him. The metal arm came up and pointed at the bench on the wall. "Siddown."

_Left. Right. Hook. Jab._

He wasn't mad. He _wasn't_. Surprised, obviously. And a little unsettled and embarrassed, but that was all on him, he could accept that, just the way it would be if he'd walked in on any other couple having a private moment (except that Tony's workshop wasn't the most private place in the Tower, so maybe it wasn't _all_ on him). And worried. Definitely worried, because that was a hell of a tangle.

_Left. Right._

But he wasn't mad.

_Hook. Jab._

"You keep bare-knuckling that bag, you're gonna regret it."

Steve jumped and spun. Bucky was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.

Steve caught the bag and stilled its swinging. "Didn't mean to interrupt," he said, and knew even as the words left his mouth that they were too short and sharp.

"No harm done," Bucky said easily. "I was all for leaving you to it, but he told me to come check on you."

"And you're following his orders now?" Steve winced. "No, sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Kinda think you did, actually," Bucky said. He came into the room and nudged the door shut behind him. The metal arm came up and pointed at the bench on the wall. "Siddown."

Steve sighed and slumped onto the bench. He checked his knuckles to avoid looking at Bucky directly. They were already red and bruised. Not that it mattered; they'd be fine again in an hour or so.

"Nuh-uh," Bucky said. "Turn around sideways."

Steve frowned up at him, and then the penny dropped. "You've got to be-- You remembered that?"

Bucky smirked. "A week or so ago, yeah, while you were still out. I was saving it up so I could embarrass you in front of everyone later. But I think maybe we need it now." He punched Steve's arm lightly. "Go on, turn around."

As kids, Steve and Bucky had only rarely quarreled with each other, but when they did, the rows had been famous, spitting and name-calling and yelling disintegrating rapidly into swinging fists and biting. Finally, driven past distraction, Bucky's Ma had marched them into Bucky's room and made them sit, back-to-back, arms linked, and told them they weren't to get up again until they'd resolved their differences in a civilized manner. It had worked, somehow. Sitting so close but unable to see each other's faces had dragged truths from them that they'd never have been able to admit otherwise.

Steve shook his head at the memory, but turned obediently to straddle the bench. Bucky sat behind him, and they leaned against each other, reaching back to link arms. Steve hesitated a moment, then said, "Who'll start?"

"Ma always liked you best," Bucky said. "Speak your piece."

"Buck, I'm..." Steve grimaced, could feel the back of his neck heating up. At least Bucky couldn't see it. (All hail the wisdom of Mrs. Barnes.) "Jealous. I guess." Bucky stiffened against his back, and Steve said hurriedly, "Not like that! I mean... I know you want, um, used to want--"

"Okay, I know there's rules against interrupting, but let me set that straight right now," Bucky growled. "I am not _pining_ for your sorry ass, Rogers. Stop talking about what you think is going on in _my_ head, and tell me what the hell is happening in _yours_."

Steve huffed. Bucky hadn't followed these rules very well as a boy, either. "I'm _trying_ ," he said testily. "But half of what's going on in my head is wondering what the hell is going on in yours! Look, you were... you were in a bad way there for a few days, Bucky. Every damn time I came in to see you, you hadn't even moved off the bed, near as I could tell. If JARVIS hadn't promised us you were eating and drinking, I'd--" He drew a long breath, and let it out. "Wouldn't talk, even to tell me to go to hell. Wouldn't even look at me. So I was worried.

"Then I went up this afternoon, and the whole suite's empty, and JARVIS tells me you're down in the medbay with Tony and Bruce. Worried some more, thinking you'd hurt yourself somehow, but I figured they'd let me know if anything... big. Had happened." Steve swallowed, hard. It had been a long, long day.

"You and Tony missed dinner, and JARVIS said you were both down in the workshop, so I figured he was working on your arm, and I know you didn't want me around for that--" Bucky made a noise of protest, and Steve squeezed his arms warningly. "Let me finish, okay? You didn't want me around when he was working on your arm, so I waited some more, and waited, and then I just couldn't... couldn't wait any more. So I came down, and saw. What I saw.

"And I just... You wouldn't even _look_ at me, this morning, but then you got up and went with him, just like that? I'm not proud of it, Buck, but... I'm supposed to be your best friend. I'm a little jealous." Steve sighed. "Your turn."

Bucky didn't speak for a moment, and Steve wished he knew what Bucky was thinking, wished he could see the thoughts flitter across Bucky's face as they organized themselves. But he waited. Again. At least he had Bucky with him this time.

"Okay," Bucky said finally. "Okay. To start with, I threw you out when Tony was taking off the old arm because your damn hovering was making the pain harder to deal with. Remember? It doesn't hurt like that anymore. Doesn't hurt at all, can't even feel it once he's gotten through the skin. So you're welcome to watch that, any time. I'd like you to see it, and you know Tony loves to show off, so he'd love it, too. Got it?"

Steve swallowed hard and nodded.

Bucky took a deep breath, then and continued, "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you. Before. I knew you were worried, but it... I couldn't... You've always been my compass, Steve. My... my light. I couldn't face you, knowing what I'd almost done, knowing you'd have been disappointed--"

"No," Steve said quickly. "Bucky, no, not never--"

"Shut up, it's my turn," Bucky snapped, and Steve didn't point out that Bucky had just done the same thing to him, just gritted his teeth and knocked his head lightly back against Bucky's.

"I wasn't thinking straight. Probably still not, not the way I should, but it's a little clearer now." He paused for a few breaths, then said, very quietly, "I think that's Tony's doing, a lot of it. You're my light, Steve, that ain't never gonna change. You... you show me what's good and right and true. But Tony... Tony knows how to find a path through the darkness when there just isn't any light at all."

Steve's chest felt _squeezed_ , suddenly, and his breath came short, thinking of all he'd learned about Tony in the last few years. How Tony had survived torture and betrayal and loss after loss, faced death of both body and spirit more times than Steve could count and had always come back out the other side, hurting and angry and stumbling, making stupid damn decisions sometimes (lots of the time), but not giving up, never giving up, more determined than ever to prevail.

"I'd fallen into a dark place, Steve. I couldn't see your light, it was too much. Too blinding. I needed time, and... and I needed Tony's help, to find my path back up out of the darkness."

"Jesus, Buck," Steve breathed. God, for Bucky to admit that he'd needed help for _anything_...

"I'm sorry," Bucky said again, his voice small as it pushed its way past a shuddering breath. "I didn't mean it to hurt you, Stevie. Not in a million years."

There was silence then, for a long moment. "Um," Bucky said, his voice thick now, "your turn again, I guess."

Steve bit his lips. "I didn't realize how much he's done. I... wish it could've been me, but I guess I can see why it couldn't have been." Steve was no stranger to the darkness, but for all the cocky showmanship, if anyone on the team understood the hell of self-doubt, it was Tony. Steve shifted a little, angling so he could lay his head back against Bucky's shoulder. "If it couldn't be me, I'm glad it was him," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I am."

"Knucklehead," Bucky said, but Steve could hear the smile in it. "We good now?"

"Yeah," Steve said, and unwound his arms from Bucky's. "Yeah, we're good."

They turned around on the bench so they were side-by-side, and Steve checked his knuckles. The bruising was mostly gone. "So, you and Stark?" he said in what he hoped was a light, teasing tone. "How long's that been going?"

Bucky snorted. "About half an hour, now."

Steve looked over at Bucky. "Buck, we've been in here for what, fifteen, twenty minutes?"

"Yep." Bucky's head was tipped back, his eyes closed. "But it's probably a good thing you didn't walk in on us ten minutes later."

Steve shoved him, and Bucky grinned without opening his eyes. "Guy can _kiss_ , is what I'm--"

Steve shoved him again, harder. "I don't need to hear this!"

"And he does this really positively _filthy_ thing with his--"

"Shut up!" Laughing, Steve clamped his hand over Bucky's mouth. "God, I do _not_ want to hear any of this!"

"I could stand to hear some more," Natasha said brightly.

Steve flinched so hard he nearly fell off the bench. " _Dammit_ , Nat, where did you come from? God, you two are going to be the death of me."

Bucky hadn't even twitched. He opened one eye and stared at Natasha. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," he said primly, as if he hadn't been about to spill every last detail on Steve's unwilling ears.

"I've no idea what that's got to do with _you_ ," Natasha returned. "Glad to see you boys seem to have settled things."

"More or less," Bucky agreed.

Steve looked at Bucky, and then at Natasha, and then back at Bucky. "Just... be careful, okay Buck?"

Bucky growled. "For fuck's sake, Steve, I'm not--"

"No, I know," Steve said quickly. "I just... Tony's not that great at relationships. He goes completely overboard, or he gets scared and starts pushing people away. He's been hurt so many times, and it's not--"

"Wait," Bucky said. "Are you shitting me? You're _my_ best friend. Why am I the one getting the shovel talk?"

"It's not the shovel talk!" Steve protested.

"Sure as hell sounds like the shovel talk to me!"

"I'm just saying--" Natasha's hand was over Steve's mouth. He shut up and looked up at her. She smiled at him warmly. He smiled back, even though her hand was still over his mouth, knowing she'd feel it.

Natasha looked back at Bucky. "You should probably get back down there," she suggested, "before he finishes convincing himself that you're not coming back."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, then frowned. "Yeah, he would, wouldn't he?" He stood, then pointed at Steve. "This is not done. I cannot believe you tried to give _me_ the shovel talk!" He stalked toward the door with all the wounded dignity of a wet cat.

Steve pulled Natasha's hand away, grinning, and she let him. "I'll give him the speech later," Steve called after Bucky.

"You'd better," Bucky called back over his shoulder. "It'd better be goddamn _terrifying_."


	13. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky let go of Tony's shirt and slid both hands up to rake through Tony's messy hair, slightly coarse and short but long enough that Bucky could bunch his fists in it. Tony let out a groan at that, and Bucky pulled out of the kiss, just a little, just enough to look into Tony's eyes, but still so close that their lips brushed as he growled, "I said I could make my own mistakes."
> 
> "Mm," Tony agreed breathlessly. "Yeah. You did say that." He tried to kiss Bucky again, but Bucky held Tony's head firm and didn't let him move. Tony let slip a soft noise and his arms tightened, pulling their hips together. Then he quirked a smile and said, "Okay, then. Let's go upstairs and make some mistakes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Move along, folks, nothing to see here (except porn). This is the first chapter that earns the story its (E) rating, and if that's not your thing, I promise you can skip it; there's nothing in here that you'll need to know for the upcoming chapters, except that, yeah, they finally get it on. ;-)

Tony looked startled, just for an instant, when Bucky pushed through the workshop door, but he covered it quickly, closing the glowing holographic windows he'd been studying with a careless wave. "Hey, you're back."

Bucky raised his eyebrows and did not slow down as he closed the distance between them. "Told you I would be."

"No, actually, you didn't." A flutter of a smile shadowed Tony's face. "You said--"

Bucky grabbed the front of Tony's shirt and kissed him before he could finish whatever nonsense he'd been about to spout. Tony didn't react for a moment, and then all at once shuddered and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, his mouth opening hungrily.

Bucky let go of Tony's shirt and slid both hands up to rake through Tony's messy hair, slightly coarse and short but long enough that Bucky could bunch his fists in it. Tony let out a groan at that, and Bucky pulled out of the kiss, just a little, just enough to look into Tony's eyes, but still so close that their lips brushed as he growled, "I said I could make my own mistakes."

"Mm," Tony agreed breathlessly. "Yeah. You did say that." He tried to kiss Bucky again, but Bucky held Tony's head firm and didn't let him move. Tony let slip a soft noise and his arms tightened, pulling their hips together. Then he quirked a smile and said, "Okay, then. Let's go upstairs and make some mistakes."

Bucky kissed Tony again, slow and easy this time, teasing his tongue along Tony's lips, pulling away when Tony tried to deepen it. He kissed from one corner of Tony's mouth to the other, punctuating with his teeth and tongue until Tony had gone limp and boneless in his grasp. When Bucky pulled away again, Tony looked positively debauched, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, his lips swollen, his breath fast and shallow.

 _God_ , that was sweet. Bucky probably looked just as wrecked, but he grinned down at Tony and said, "Well, now I know what it takes to shut you up."

Tony laughed. "I'm as surprised as you are." He pulled away until Bucky let go of his hair, and then he caught Bucky's metal hand, twining their fingers together, and tugged him toward the door and the elevator. The instant the doors closed around them, Tony crowded Bucky against the wall, his feet bracketing Bucky's. He caught Bucky's other hand as well and then pinned both wrists against the wall on either side of Bucky's head, his smile predatory in a way that made Bucky's cock twitch inside his jeans. "My place, J," he directed the elevator, and before it even began to move, he'd dropped his head to suck on Bucky's neck.

When Tony's teeth closed on Bucky's collarbone, it sent jolts of lightning down his chest and Bucky couldn't hold back a groan. He pushed forward, desperate for more contact, but Tony swayed back, chuckling wickedly, so that their hips brushed without enough pressure for even momentary satisfaction. He could have pulled his wrists from Tony's grip easily, but it felt good, freeing, and so Bucky just rolled his head back and let words and sounds fall out of his mouth, unplanned and unconsidered.

"God, Tony. Tony, God, that feels good, so, s-so good. Sh-shit, yes, yeah, God, oh, _ah_ , shit!" and he hissed as Tony sucked harder, right to the edge of painful, hard enough to mark.

Bucky's wrists had been released, but he wasn't sure when it had happened, only that Tony's hands were now at his waist, pushing his shirt up, the soft rasp of Tony's callused fingers dragging deliciously across the skin of Bucky's stomach. "Uhn, Tony, God..." Bucky let his arms fall, his right hand cradling Tony's head against his neck, the other dropping to Tony's shoulder, rubbing circles against the taut muscle there with his thumb.

The elevator doors opened. Tony caught Bucky's hands and backed out, pulling Bucky along. Bucky looked around only briefly, enough to register that Tony's apartment was even posher than Bucky's (of course) and decorated in bright colors and sharp modern lines. Then there was a wall and he shoved Tony against it, hard enough to knock the breath from Tony's lungs and Bucky's mouth was there, sucking it in before covering Tony's lips. Bucky slid his thigh between Tony's and ground his cock against Tony's hip, hard, harder, until pressure became pain enough to ease the sharp ache of arousal for a moment.

"Jesus," Tony groaned, "fuck, Bucky..." He was clinging to Bucky's shoulders, all but letting Bucky hold him up. Bucky slid a hand through Tony's hair and tugged his head to the side; Tony's easy surrender made Bucky want to growl possessively.

He laid his teeth over Tony's neck, felt Tony's pulse against his lips and tongue, and then bit down, sucking hard. Tony shouted, hands clenching and hips rutting against Bucky's thigh. Bucky released him and pulled back to eye the mark he'd made with dark satisfaction.

"Jesus," Tony said again. "You are seriously gonna make me blow my load right here, before we even get to the bedroom, like a fucking teenager."

Bucky laughed and laid his mouth on Tony's neck again, licking over his mark. "That's a problem?"

"Hell yes," Tony said, pushing Bucky back off him with a smirk. "I have very expensive and comfortable sheets for us to make a mess of, and while I am not immune to the charm of a quickie against the wall, I feel like we should start out with something a little more traditional and respectful, so your boyfriend doesn't feel--"

"Seriously," Bucky rumbled, glaring, "I am going to _kill you_ if you call Steve my boyfriend _one more time_."

Tony smiled, his eyes flickering with something like pride, which didn't even make sense, and then he pushed back up off the wall and pulled Bucky through a doorway.

Bucky glanced up just long enough to register that the room had a bed, and then he was herding Tony toward it.

Tony didn't resist, just kept stepping back as Bucky crowded forward. Tony slid his hands under Bucky's shirt and pulled it up and over Bucky's head, dropping it onto the floor just as he bumped into the bed. Tony grabbed at Bucky's waist and fell backward onto the bed with a triumphant crow. "There, we made it!"

"Finally," Bucky agreed. He pushed up onto his knees, straddling Tony's thighs, and shoved his hands up under Tony's shirt.

Tony laughed and raised his arms, so Bucky took the hint and pulled off the tee, tossing it on the floor, and then paused, arrested. There was a mass of scar tissue as big around as Bucky's fist smack over Tony's sternum, and how the _hell_ had he survived anything that'd made that big a hole in his chest?

Tony's expression suddenly shuttered. "It's just a scar," he said, too quickly. He didn't try to cover his chest, but his eyes slid sideways.

Bucky grunted -- later, maybe, he'd ask -- and bent down to kiss around the edges of it. "Mine's bigger," he teased, rolling his left shoulder, and Tony let out a fake-offended huff, relaxing. Tony leaned up to kiss Bucky again, and they were back to slow and easy, apparently, so Bucky propped his hands on either side of Tony's head and let his tongue curl into Tony's mouth.

Tony's hands slid restlessly over Bucky's arms and shoulders and chest, fingernails scraping lightly against Bucky's nipples until he let out a shivery sigh. Then they slid lower, over Bucky's stomach, and lower still, cupping his cock gently through the fabric of his jeans. Bucky groaned and rolled his hips to press into Tony's grip, and Tony made a pleased sound, humming into Bucky's mouth.

One hand slid lower still to cup his balls, and before he could stop it, a quiet whine escaped Bucky's throat. "Mmm," Tony sighed, nuzzling his way along Bucky's jaw, "that... that is a _fantastic_ noise. I'm going to need more of that."

"...Fuck," Bucky groaned.

Tony chuckled softly and rolled his fingers against Bucky's balls, and another whimper slid free. "Listen to that," Tony purred. "God, the things I want to do with you, just to hear your sounds..."

Tony's other hand opened the front of Bucky's jeans, and then slipped inside to slide over Bucky's prick.

Bucky's throat closed entirely for a moment, and then he let out a long "Oh..." as Tony's fingers, calloused but gentle, explored his length. "God, Tony."

Tony made another pleased hum against Bucky's neck, then he pulled both hands free to push Bucky's jeans and boxers down over his hips.

 _God, yes._ Bucky pushed up, rolled off Tony long enough to kick his pants the rest of the way off. He'd forgotten about shoes and they got stuck and he had to yank them off his feet, and he was sure it was going to be a pain in the ass to get them out of the jeans later but that was totally unimportant right now.

Right now, all that mattered was that Tony was scooting back on the bed (hell, and he'd thought the bed in _his_ room was big) and pulling Bucky along, and then pressing Bucky back down against the (expensive and comfortable, as advertised) sheets.

Tony draped himself half on top of Bucky, looking down with a cocky, proprietary grin that made Bucky want to smack him while at the same time causing something warm to uncurl in Bucky's stomach.

"God, look at you," Tony said. "So fucking gorgeous."

Bucky smiled and slid his hands over Tony's neck and shoulders. "So're you. 'Cept you're way overdressed for this party."

Tony immediately stood up and unfastened his pants, and Bucky's heart, already beating fast, started to pound heavily. Tony shucked off the rest of his clothes with careless ease ( _Tony_ didn't have trouble with his shoes, dammit), then climbed back onto the bed, stretching out at Bucky's side.

Bucky hadn't seen so many pricks that they were exactly old hat. And most of the ones he had seen -- glimpses in the barracks showers, for instance -- had been softies. But he fought the impulse to stare, forcibly dragging his stuttering gaze back to Tony's face until Tony grinned and said, "It's fine, feel free to examine the merchandise."

Caught, Bucky felt a flush begin to spread over his neck, but before he could actually respond, Tony was moving again, slithering down the bed to -- _oh my God_ \-- swallow Bucky's cock in one swift motion. " _Shit_ ," he gasped, his hips jerking and rocking in sudden, uncontrollable waves. "Tony, you--"

Tony didn't even look up; he just leaned his arms into Bucky's hips to stop their movement, and fuck, that only made Bucky's need worse. Tony's tongue was doing... something, and then Tony started to move, sliding up and down, and that tongue, dammit, Bucky couldn't even figure out what he was doing to make it feel like that.

"God, oh God, fuck, Tony," he groaned, "that feels so good, so goddamn good..." Bucky propped himself up on his elbows to watch, and Tony, sensing the shift, slanted him a look of pure lasciviousness that made Bucky's stomach bunch up into a tingling snarl that began to uncoil downward.

"Nng, Tony, wait, I'm gonna-- Not yet, not yet, fucking _stop_." He grabbed Tony's hair in his metal fist and yanked hard. Tony's mouth popped off his cock with a wet, obscene _pop_ and grinned at Bucky unrepentantly.

"God, asshole," Bucky huffed. Tony's grin grew into a smirk, so Bucky hooked an ankle behind Tony's knee and yanked, rolling them both over. "Turnabout's fair play, yeah?" he said and manhandled Tony into position, pressing his forearms against Tony's hips the way Tony had been doing to him. Tony still looked entirely too smug, though.

So Bucky began to paint Tony's cock with the softest and lightest licks and kisses, working from the base upward, occasionally letting his teeth slide, ever so gently, across the long vein.

"Oh, fuck, are you-- No, that's just mean," Tony whined. He tried to thrust, but Bucky just leaned more heavily against his hips. "Jesus, Buck, who'd've thought you had such a cruel streak?"

Bucky laughed, let it go low and menacing so his breath would skate warm over Tony's skin. "You really have not been paying attention, have you?" When Tony let out another whimper, Bucky closed his mouth over just the head of Tony's cock and let his tongue slide in lazy spirals around it, digging gently at each lap into the slit.

There was no way Bucky could duplicate whatever Tony had been doing with _his_ tongue, not without some kind of detailed instruction, but the way Tony was still cursing and fighting Bucky's hold on his hips suggested that Bucky was doing just fine as it was.

Thumbwidth by thumbwidth, Bucky worked his way down Tony's prick, letting it slide just a bit deeper every few breaths, then pulling back up, savoring Tony's taste. And God, but it was a taste to savor, like ozone and salt and just a hint of bitterness.

At some point, Tony had stopped fighting Bucky's hold and gone from cursing to praising him. "...so good, yeah, yes, _yes_ like that, god, Bucky, you're so fucking gorgeous like that, so good, Buck, yessss..." Tony's hands were in his hair, not trying to push or pull, just fingers scraping lightly over Bucky's scalp, soothing and restless by turns.

Bucky hummed in pleasure, and Tony dragged in a suddenly ragged breath. "...Christ, Buck, god, stop now, stopstopstop." Tony sat all the way up and Bucky let Tony pull him off this time. Tony kissed him, sloppy and desperate now, breath coming fast and hard.

Their legs tangled as their hips ground together. God, the slide of Tony's cock against his own was filthy and wonderful. Groping blindly, Tony found Bucky's hand -- the metal one -- and guided it between their bodies, helped him wrap his hand around both their pricks together, and _sweet fuck_ that felt amazing.

They jerked their cocks together, groaning and gasping into each others' mouths. "Come on," Tony urged, his voice ragged and low and his breath hot against Bucky's lips. "Let it go. Come for me now."

And _God_ but that voice was pure sex, even better than the one Tony used to talk about tech. It was like every sinful thought Bucky'd ever had in the dark, and with almost no warning at all, Bucky's balls flooded hot and pulled up tight and he dipped his head and bit hard on Tony's shoulder as he came.

"Yes," Tony hissed, "yes, yes, yesss... Oh, fuck, yes, close, Buck, gonna-- god don't stop don't please--"

Bucky let go of his cock and tightened his hand against Tony's, his own come making the grip slippery and smooth. "I've got you," he promised Tony hoarsely, "I'm not stopping, come on, Tony."

Tony hitched a breath, and then another, and then shuddered violently with his release.

"...God," Tony panted. "That was fantastic."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, flopping onto his back. "God, yeah." The dim light of the room seemed suddenly too bright, even through closed eyelids. Bucky threw his right arm over his face.

Tony chuckled and the bed shifted as he moved. "Don't go anywhere," Tony said, and Bucky listened as Tony slid off the bed and padded across the room.

He heard a distant sound of running water, but by the time Tony came back with a cloth to clean them up, Bucky was already asleep.


	14. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bucky, you don't have to--"
> 
> "Shut up, Tony." Bucky kept his eyes on Wilson, very carefully not looking at Tony, because he _finally_ had a chance to do something useful, to begin fixing damage he had done, even if it was only a tiny drop in a very large bucket. _My choice._ "I haven't been... wiped... since before the helicarriers. I think I can get to 'em without it hurting too much." He wiped his suddenly-sweating hands on his pants.

He swam up out of darkness slowly. The world was warm and soft and felt inexplicably _safe_ , which was so strange that it jolted him the rest of the way awake.

Bucky was in a strange bed.

No, wait: Tony's bed. Yes. He blinked twice, and the room around him did not change, so apparently that had actually happened. His balls ached, just a little, and he really needed to take a piss. He grinned.

Bucky was alone in the room, though, which was kind of a shame. Bucky wondered what Tony looked like when he was sleeping, because he was so guarded and busy the rest of the time. On the other hand, if the angle of the sun coming through the window was any indication, Bucky had slept through the whole night and more than half the day.

Which was... unprecedented, really, even allowing that he'd been awake for three days straight, before, because of--

Bucky's heartbeat stuttered, then, a little. Had he lost time to the Winter Soldier instead of sleep? Bucky looked at the ceiling, but of course JARVIS didn't have his counter in here.

He drew a quick, shaky breath, and sat up. "Um." His throat was raspy and hoarse, and he felt his skin warm slightly at the memory of the utterly shameless sounds Tony had dragged out of him. He cleared his throat and swallowed, and tried again. "JARVIS?"

"Good day, Sergeant," JARVIS said calmly. "How may I be of assistance?"

"What's the-- I didn't, uh, reset my counter last night, did I?"

"Not unless an episode escaped detection while you remained asleep, sir. Shall I display the counter for you?"

Bucky hesitated, then shook his head. "No, that's all right." He glanced out the window again. "How long was I asleep?"

"Just short of fifteen hours. It is currently 3:13pm. Mr. Stark requested that I reduce the polarization of the windows beginning at three o'clock to encourage you to wake in time for dinner."

"Oh." Bucky's stomach fluttered at that, and he told himself it was because he was hungry. "Uh, thanks."

"Of course."

Bucky slid out of the bed. His clothes had been retrieved from the floor, the shoes disentangled from the pants' legs, and everything draped over a chair. He grabbed the jeans, then hesitated before pulling them on. He still needed to piss.

Bucky padded into the bathroom and froze, staring at his reflection in the mirrors.

"Holy shit."

There were red-purple bruises down both sides of his neck and all along his collarbones. He remembered the feel of Tony's teeth and tongue and felt that flutter in his stomach again. He'd have to wear a shirt with a chin-high collar if he wanted to hide it all.

Then again, who would he hide it from?

Bucky thought about watching Steve trying _not_ to stare at Tony's marks, and wondered if he had a shirt that would show them _all_ off.

#

As it turned out, he did, but it was the ugliest damn shirt Bucky had ever seen, so after he'd gotten cleaned up he opted for something faded and soft instead.

(Trying too hard was likely to backfire, anyway, because Steve was easily embarrassed but he wasn't a prude and he wasn't above a certain amount of revenge, so there was a limit to how much ammunition Bucky should hand him.)

When Bucky emerged from the elevator onto the common level, Dr. Banner and the Black Widow were in the kitchen, engaged in what appeared to be an intricate, elaborate dance.

Or, more accurately, Banner was merely cooking, and the Widow was doing an intricate, elaborate dance around him, weaving around his body as he moved, reaching under his knife to snitch tastes, plucking ingredients from his hands and replacing them with others. Banner never once hesitated or slowed to accommodate her, though, which lent an air of unity to their movement. It was at once breathtakingly mesmerizing and heartbreakingly domestic.

Bucky stood just outside the doorway for several long minutes, biting his lip as he watched them. Eventually, he realized that they were aware of his presence, and he wondered if he was somehow intruding. He pushed his hand through his hair and rubbed at the back of his neck. "That smells good," he said. "Should I... Can I help?"

The Widow looked at Bucky, then, and her eyes didn't so much as flicker toward the bruises on his throat, but her mouth curved slightly. "Not this time."

Bucky wondered what that smile meant, but knew better than to ask. "Where are the others?"

"Steve's down in the medbay, sitting with Clint," Banner answered. "Tony and Sam are in the living room." He threw a tomato over his shoulder without looking, and the Widow caught it, spinning gracefully to set it on the counter behind her. She reached through the crook of Banner's arm to take a knife from the block. Bucky was impressed: Banner didn't even flinch as the blade slid past his elbow.

"Doing that that hard way, aren't ya?" Bucky asked the Widow.

"My way is more fun," the Widow said, deadpan as she flipped the knife and stabbed the tomato with it. "Go on, we'll call when the food is ready."

Sam Wilson and Tony were in the middle of the living room. Wilson was wearing his mechanical wings, spreading them wide while Tony performed some sort of repair. Wilson spotted Bucky first. "Hey, it's Sleeping Beauty."

At Wilson's words, Tony glanced up. _His_ eyes went straight to Bucky's neck, and he grinned. "Hey there, hot stuff," Tony said warmly, and then turned his attention back to Wilson's wings. He made some minute adjustment and then stepped back. "Right, see if that helps." Wilson lifted the wings, then began to flex them, running through what was clearly a series of tests.

Tony took advantage of the moment to step to Bucky's side. "Know I shouldn't have let you wake up alone," he said, almost sheepishly, "but you were down for the count and there were things that needed doing."

"If I was pissed, I'd have punched you already," Bucky said.

"Like one more bruise is going to make a difference?" Tony sounded smug, though he was scrupulously watching Wilson's motions.

"Hey, I'm the one looks like I got attacked by a defanged vampire," Bucky said.

Tony's eyes sparkled. "Yeah, but you should see my shoulder. And I've got this _fantastic_ handprint right on my hip--"

" _Seriously_ ," Wilson groaned, "I didn't need that mental image. God. And this is still pulling stiff, Tony, here, watch." He pulled the wing across his body and wiggled it.

Tony frowned, watching the wing's motion. "I swear, I already replaced that one panel and recalibrated it. Twice. It really shouldn't be sticking like that." He went back to Wilson, began running his hands over the struts and panels, and for an instant, Bucky was jealous of the knowing, almost possessive way Tony was stroking the metal.

Which was stupid, so Bucky suppressed it and climbed onto the couch. He sat cross-legged, watching Tony work. "You get it damaged in that little action?" he asked Wilson.

Wilson nodded, his eyes also on Tony's hands. "Yeah, some, though that one section has been a bit stiff since, uh--" Wilson broke off, glancing at Bucky uncomfortably.

Bucky grimaced. "Which time?"

"What?"

"Since the helicarrier, or the warehouse?" Bucky prompted. He was fairly certain those were the only times the Winter Soldier had damaged Wilson's wings. Tony had stopped tinkering, was looking at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. Bucky ignored him, told Wilson, "If I can remember what I did, exactly, maybe it can help Tony find the problem."

Wilson blinked at him. "If you can-- It was the warehouse; we had to rebuild 'em completely after the 'carrier. But I thought those memories were kinda out of your reach."

"Bucky, you don't have to--"

"Shut up, Tony." Bucky kept his eyes on Wilson, very carefully not looking at Tony, because he _finally_ had a chance to do something useful, to begin fixing damage he had done, even if it was only a tiny drop in a very large bucket. _My choice_. "I haven't been... wiped... since before the helicarriers. I think I can get to 'em without it hurting too much." He wiped his suddenly-sweating hands on his pants.

Tony was not about to be ignored. "We're having dinner in less than an hour. You know what these memory pushes do to you. At least wait until after."

"Rather get it over with," Bucky muttered. He closed his eyes, started breathing. _In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four._

"Wait, do you mean you've been pushing him to recover those memories?" Wilson demanded. He actually sounded angry, and that was wrong, so very wrong, but Bucky was already into the breathing exercise and couldn't speak.

 _in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. let color leach away, let the whites brighten and the blacks darken until everything is bright and distant and clear and sharp. where is he?_ data: recall point. _yes._

 _there are two of them, the man with the wings and the man with the shield who makes the soldier's head buzz unpleasantly with conflicting requirements. the winged man is only a distraction. the soldier ducks the shield, kicking it from its flight. the winged man swoops close, underestimating the soldier's speed. the soldier snatches at a wing with his metal hand_ data required: this grip, that panel _and wrenches it around_ data required: that torsion, this force _and flings the winged man into the distant shadows._ data: collection complete.

 _in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four_ and Tony was kneeling in front of him, hands resting lightly on Bucky's knees, eyes active on Bucky's face, cautious but not apprehensive.

When Bucky met his eyes and nodded, Tony stood and turned to Wilson. "Talking is usually difficult for a few minutes," Tony explained in a tight undertone, "and it makes him lose details more quickly, so don't push him, just let him show us in his own way."

Wilson still looked tense, but he just nodded and looked at Bucky.

Bucky stood slowly, his thoughts cloudy and his limbs feeling like they were wrapped in layer after layer of cotton wool. He reached out for the wing, tugged on Wilson's arm until the wing spread to its full extension. Bucky slid his fingers along the edge, rasp of metal-on-metal until he closed his hand on the correct panel.

Tony was watching closely, eyes flickering between Bucky's hands and face. (Distantly, Bucky was reminded yet again how much he loved the way nothing escaped Tony's notice when he was focused.) He released Wilson's wing and then showed Tony, very slowly, how he'd twisted to wrench the fragile structure.

Tony frowned in concentration. "Show me that again."

Bucky did.

"Okay, I've got it. You can relax now. Let it go." Tony took the wing himself and tugged on the panel lightly, then began prying it apart.

Wilson held the wing still for Tony, but his mouth was twisting as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "Not that I'm not grateful for the help, man, but I've gotta ask: why? Why would you ask him to do that? Those aren't gonna be memories anyone would want."

"I do," Bucky said, peeling himself out of his mental cotton. Wilson frowned at him, and Bucky scowled right back, which was easy because his head was starting to pound. "They wiped me clean after every mission," Bucky said. "They took everything away. They're not good memories, but they're _mine_ , and I want 'em back."

Wilson looked like he wanted to argue, but he paused, considering. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, okay, I think I get it. Sorry."

Bucky nodded, and then looked straight into Wilsons' eyes, setting his jaw stubbornly. "And stop dumping blame on Tony. He's helping, but it was my choice."

"Tell me it was your idea and not his," Wilson shot back. Taken aback by the challenge, Bucky was annoyed -- and then appeased somewhat, to realize Wilson was no longer afraid of him.

"Of course it was my idea," Tony said. "I've been injured enough to know that it's better in the long run to feel the pain than to know you're wounded and _not_ be able to feel it. The wounds that don't hurt are the ones that you might never recover from."

Wilson raised his eyebrows at Tony as if he was surprised. Goddammit, why did people keep underestimating the man?

"Hey, lookit that," Tony said, poking into the wing with his screwdriver. "There's a bent pulley in here. We get this fixed, your wing'll be good as new. Good job, Bucky."

 


	15. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Cap, what's new?"
> 
> Steve grinned. "You mean aside from you and my best friend trying to appall me with your sex life?"
> 
> "You interrupted my work to come and give me the I'll-Kill-You-if-You-Hurt-My-Friend speech?" Tony gave Steve his best unimpressed glare.
> 
> Steve actually laughed, which didn't do much for Tony's confidence in the glare, but at least he let go of Tony's wrist.

Tony grumbled, pulled out the entire drawer of pulley assemblies, and dumped it on the workbench. Surely _one_ of them had to be the right size to fix Sam's damn wings. It would be easier if Sam would just let him build a whole new set of wings from scratch, but _no_ , Sam had insisted on repairing _these_.

Maybe he would just make the new wings anyway, because Tony definitely had some ideas for improving the fine control and allowing greater mobility for--

"Tony?"

Except the ailerons would have to be adjusted to compensate for--

"Tony."

Oh, hey, there was the pulley assembly he needed. Tony grabbed it and turned back toward Sam's wings, reaching for his screwdriver.

" _Tony._ " A big hand grabbed his wrist.

Steve was wearing the "amused-yet-exasperated" expression he reserved just for Tony, which meant he'd probably been standing here trying to get Tony's attention for at least five minutes. But less than ten, because in that case it would be the "exasperated-yet-amused" face instead. And definitely less than fifteen minutes, because at about the fifteen minute mark, Steve usually hauled out the full-on Captain America Is Disappointed In You face, and Tony really did not want to experience that face again.

Even if he knew it was inevitable, because Tony was really quite good at predicting the future based on past trends.

But in the meantime, he still hadn't finished fixing Sam's damn wings. He couldn't believe he'd missed that pulley; he should've had JARVIS do a full scan from the begi--

Oh, right. Steve still had hold of his wrist.

"Hey, Cap, what's new?"

Steve grinned. "You mean aside from you and my best friend trying to appall me with your sex life?"

"You interrupted my work to come and give me the I'll-Kill-You-if-You-Hurt-My-Friend speech?" Tony gave Steve his best unimpressed glare.

Steve actually laughed, which didn't do much for Tony's confidence in the glare, but at least he let go of Tony's wrist. "Why do you both keep jumping to that conclusion?"

"In my defense, that definitely sounded like an opening for that speech."

"We called it the 'shovel talk' when I was a kid."

Tony blinked for a moment, confused, and then figured it out. "'I've got a shotgun and a shovel.' Right. That's certainly less of a mouthful."

"Yeah. Except that's not what I'm here for, actually."

"It's not? This would be the perfect time for it, you know. No one else to overhear. Except JARVIS, but that's okay, JARVIS understands a little healthy intimidation between friends. Rhodey once threatened to--"

"I'm not going to threaten you, Tony." Steve was laughing again.

"Why the hell not?" Tony's fingers tapped restlessly at his chest. Didn't Steve remember the terrible hash he'd made of things with Pepper? Tony was lucky -- _unbelievably_ lucky -- that she hadn't walked out of his life entirely.

"Because," Steve said patiently, "I know you, and I know Bucky. You're both good guys. You both try really hard to do the right thing. I know we disagree about methods sometimes, Tony, but I do know, always, that you're trying.

"And you're not going to avoid treating Bucky badly because you're scared of me. You're going to avoid treating him badly because you're a man of honor and you don't deliberately treat people badly." Steve was a terrible liar, which meant he actually believed that.  _Jesus._  "There are lots of ways that relationships can fall apart, and yeah, some of those hurt, but is my threatening you likely to stop any of those things from happening? I don't think so." Steve met Tony's eyes solemnly. "I trust you to treat each other with honesty and respect, without my needing to enforce that."

Tony gaped at him. Steve smiled, then clapped Tony on the shoulder warmly. "Anyway, what I came down for was to remind you not to fall into the black hole of work, because Bucky seemed a little worried when you disappeared after dinner, and I told him I'd check in on you before I went to bed."

Tony lifted his eyebrows. "He's got access to the shop; he could check on me himself."

"Tony," Steve sighed. "He's trying not to crowd you. Did you guys talk _at all_ about this?"

"Nah," Tony said, "we pretty much just started ripping each others' clothes off."

Steve gave him a flat look, but the tips of his ears turned bright red. " _Tony_."

Tony grinned, unrepentant. "Yeah, I know. You're just such an easy mark, Rogers." He paused, his head cocking. "You're really okay with this?"

Steve hesitated, then shrugged out a small, deprecating smile. "You and Bucky are two of my best friends in the world, Tony. I'm selfish enough to want it to work out so I can keep you both near me."

"Huh. Okay, Steve. Message received. I'll go talk to him." He watched Steve's departure, then set the pulley assembly aside and told the bots to clean up the rest. "JARVIS, find Bucky and ask him if he's got some time for me."

#

When the elevator opened on Bucky's floor, Bucky was waiting, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Hey there," Bucky said, lips curving slightly. "Little silly to make JARVIS ask if you can come in," he pointed out. "Everyone has access to my floor, still."

Tony made a face as he stepped out. "That's for emergencies," he said. "I just wanted to chat. If you only let me in because you thought you weren't allowed to say no, I can go."

Bucky rocked forward and caught Tony's shoulder with his right hand. "I didn't say that." He cocked his head and smiled a little wider. "Just a chat, eh?"

"Well, for starters," Tony said. "Maybe some making out, too, later. Play your cards right, and I'll show you this amazing handprint I have on my hip."

Bucky laughed and pulled him forward, into the living room. "Okay, but I'm holding you to that. What's up?"

"Ha. Steve came down to my workshop and gave me a speech."

"Did he? How was it?"

Tony scrubbed at his face as he sank onto the couch. "It was goddamn terrifying, is what it was."

"Yeah?" Bucky grinned. "What'd he say?"

Tony sighed melodramatically. "That he _trusts us_."

Bucky's eyes rounded. "Aw, fuck."

"Tell me about it."

"Now we have to be all responsible and shit or he'll give us those damn kicked-puppy eyes."

"That, or the Captain America Is Disappointed In You face," Tony agreed.

"God, that one is the worst."

"Yeah, so..." Tony leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He was neither tired enough nor wired enough to be ready to talk about _feelings_. For a moment, he wished he hadn't quit drinking, but then shoved the thought away, because alcohol had never made honesty easier, either -- just made it easier to hide. "I guess I should ask whether that was meant to be... a one-time thing. I didn't get that impression, and it's not what I was hoping for. But if I read it wrong and that's all you wanted, say so now and we're golden. No harm, no foul."

"Could you really let it be that easy?" Bucky sounded a little startled.

Tony paused, thinking. "I'm... not sure which answer you'd rather hear," he confessed. "There's some evidence that my act of nonchalance in the face of crushing disappointment is not quite as airtight as I had previously believed. It's a work in progress. But I can confidently predict that I wouldn't make things any harder on you than they already are, if you wanted to walk away. I can compartmentalize with the best of them."

"Crushing disappointment, huh?" Tony could hear Bucky's grin in his voice.

"That was a reference to my last relationship, not you."

"Sure it was," Bucky drawled. "But don't worry, I'm not gonna make you suffer quite yet." His tone turned soft. "I'd like to... to see where this goes."

Tony let his eyes fall open and rolled his head until he found himself pinned by Bucky's smile, uncharacteristically shy. Tony smiled back and caught Bucky's hand, pulling him closer. "Yeah. Yeah, me too."

 


	16. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tony and Bucky," Bruce clarified, just in case Clint hadn't caught it the first time.
> 
> "Are you shitting me?" Clint demanded. God, he'd _seen_ the way Tony and Barnes orbited each other, but Clint would have bet money that it was going to take Tony at least another month or two before he'd man up and make a move. "When did that happen?"
> 
> "Four or five days ago," Bruce said. "Tasha made me promise not to tell you until you were off the morphine, though."
> 
> Oh, Natasha had gotten involved. Suddenly it made much more sense. "Why am I always the last one to get the good gossip?" Clint grumbled, though it was true that he absolutely would not have believed it until now. Morphine gave him the strangest dreams. "And Steve is really okay with that?"
> 
> "Why," demanded Barnes as he came in, "does everyone keep assuming that Steve has any say at all in my sex life?"

Fuck, but his shoulder hurt.

Also, his back where they'd carved on him, and the six fingers that were broken, and both legs where they'd dislocated his fucking hips, and his face where it had been smashed to a bloody pulp. But all of that would heal, or it wouldn't, and Clint would figure out how to work around it if he had to, but his shoulder, his _god damned shoulder_ might never be the same, and if Clint couldn't draw properly, if he couldn't nock-pull-release with perfect precision, then he didn't know if his life was even worth living.

He lifted his arm, feeling the torn ligaments in the shoulder protest. He held the position, waiting for the muscles to run out of oxygen, feeling the lactic burn and embracing it, waiting for it to slide into searing pain, breathing carefully as the muscle began to shudder into uselessness.

Even if it healed, it was going to take forever to rebuild. Fuck.

"You keep stressing it like that, it's never going to heal," Bruce said mildly, without looking up from whatever he was reading.

"I spend like eighty percent of the time I'm not in the field doing physical therapy," Clint pointed out. "I'm getting pretty good at knowing what it's supposed to feel like."

"You suck at it, actually," Bruce said, "otherwise it would be more like forty percent of the time."

"Fuck you," Clint said, though he couldn't put any heat into it, because Bruce had finally turned the morphine drip off this morning and hadn't badgered him to take the pain pills, either.

"In your dreams, Barton."

"I'm not that much of a size queen," Clint shot back, and grinned ( _ow, fractured cheekbone_ ) at Bruce's pathetic excuse of an attempt at a glare. "Isn't it time for someone to come down and take over babysitting duty so you can have lunch?"

"Pretty soon," Bruce agreed. He picked up a pen and jotted a note in the margin of his magazine -- sorry, _scientific journal_. "I think it's Tony's turn today."

Clint grunted. He hadn't seen Tony for three or four days now, but he hadn't asked why; guarding Clint was probably not high on anyone's priority list, and Tony was busier than all the rest of them combined unless there was a major threat. "Doesn't he already have an ex-assassin to watch?" Though, come to think of it, "And why is it Tony's job to watch the ex-assassin, anyway? I thought Barnes was Steve's lost duckling."

Bruce actually looked up from his magazine, and -- was Bruce _smirking_? Clint wondered if he'd accidentally eaten his pain pill after all.

"They're sleeping together," Bruce said.

Yeah. Yeah, Clint had _definitely_ accidentally taken his pain pill, because now he was having auditory hallucinations, too, apparently.

"Tony and Bucky," Bruce clarified, just in case Clint hadn't caught it the first time.

"Are you _shitting_ me?" Clint demanded. God, he'd _seen_ the way Tony and Barnes orbited each other, but Clint would have bet money that it was going to take Tony at least another month or two before he'd man up and make a move. "When did that happen?"

"Four or five days ago," Bruce said. "Tasha made me promise not to tell you until you were off the morphine, though."

Oh, Natasha had gotten involved. Suddenly it made much more sense. "Why am I always the last one to get the good gossip?" Clint grumbled, though it was true that he absolutely would not have believed it until now. Morphine gave him the strangest dreams. "And Steve is really okay with that?"

"Why," demanded Barnes as he came in, "does everyone keep assuming that Steve has any say at all in my sex life?"

Tony followed close on his heels, carrying Clint's lunch tray. "Did you steal my copy of _Notes and Records_ , Bruce?" he asked as he settled the tray on Clint's lap.

"Yeah, there's an article--" Bruce picked up the magazine ( _scientific journal_ ) and showed it to Tony, and the two of them dove in headfirst.

Clint tuned them out and rolled his eyes, then smirked, because Barnes was doing the same thing. Barnes eyed him critically. "Looking better," Barnes observed.

"Not really feeling it yet," Clint returned, but that wasn't a surprise, either, because Clint and pain were old, old friends. He struggled to sit up a little straighter ( _ow, back_ ) and reached for his lunch, which smelled like a reprise of the insanely delicious chili Sam had brought for dinner a day or two ago.

Barnes grinned at him. "It's hotter the second time around," he warned.

"Perfect," Clint said. Holding the spoon was awkward with three fingers of each hand splinted, but Barnes didn't offer to help, much to Clint's relief. Instead, he flopped into a chair and propped his feet on the side of Clint's bed, watching Tony try to chivvy Bruce toward the door while getting distracted every fourth word.

Clint ate three bites of chili before his mouth began to burn. "Perfect," Clint said again. "Tony, you have to build a time machine so we can go back and thank Mrs. Wilson for teaching Sam how to make this chili."

"Pretty sure Sam's mom is still alive, but I'll add it to the list," Tony said drily, "right after--" His next words were drowned out by the sudden flare of an alarm.

Clint's body tried for an adrenaline surge, and almost managed it. God dammit, he was going to be stuck here in this god damn bed while his god damn team _needed_ him.

Tony's fingers were already flying across a computer interface. "JARVIS, give me eyes, patch me through to Hill. Hill, what's happening?"

Clint had been told that Maria Hill had come to work for Tony months ago, but it was still startling to hear her voice coming out of the speakers. "Initial reports still coming in, but we've got activity at a compromised SHIELD site in New Jersey that we had registered as defunct. The good news is that there shouldn't be any civilians nearby. The bad news is... these heat signatures look like unedited Extremis."

"Where the _fuck_ did they get their hands on... Fine, let's go deal with it. JARVIS, bring my priority elevator to this floor and call Cap, Widow, and Falcon to the roof. Thor's not on-planet, is he? Hill, field command to Cap, obviously, so start briefing him as soon as he's got his comm on. And see if you can scramble some sort of team for mop-up and containment."

Clint liked watching Tony in crisis-mode; it was like he changed into another person entirely. He was focused, intent, his eyes sparkling as he put the pieces together. Clint glanced at Barnes, who was watching Tony with a small, proud smile. _Oh, yeah, the boy's got it bad._ "I'm out the door in three-point-five," Tony told Hill, hands still busy. He looked at Bruce. "We could use the big guy on this one," he said, making it a request and not an order.

Bruce glanced at the reports still scrolling across Tony's screen and nodded. "Yeah, I can see that." Bruce's face was calm, if a bit tight, so Clint grimaced for him. Bruce stripped off his watch, toed off his shoes, and headed out the door, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

Tony finished whatever he was doing on the computer, closed the display, and then turned back around, eyes flicking from Clint to Barnes and back.

"Jesus, just _go_ , Tony," Clint groaned. If he had to be fucking sidelined, he was _not_ going to hold the rest of them up, god damn it.

Barnes made a shooing motion. "Have a nice fight, boss," he singsonged.

"Asshole," Tony said, his lips curving upward, and then he was gone.

#

There was a window in the medbay, because Clint got squirrelly if he couldn't see sky. So he pointed, for Barnes' benefit, when the quinjet crossed their view, shortly followed by the reddish blur of Iron Man flying escort.

Barnes stood at the window, motionless, for several long minutes.

"They'll be okay," Clint said, finally, aiming for reassuring.

"Yes," Barnes said, but he didn't turn from the window.

More silence. Clint tried to calculate how long it would take them to get to the site (the quinjet was almost too fast for such a short trip, but carrying passengers was definitely too slow, and Clint realized that Tony had made those calculations in the space of about a second and a half, and was quietly impressed with Tony's brain yet again, not that he'd ever admit it).

It was still too quiet. Clint tried again. "So how's Stark in bed?"

Barnes snorted. "Got no complaints."

Clint sighed. "Man, you're killing me, here. I'm glad you're so confident and all, but I'm worried as shit. Extremis? Fuck. I thought Tony'd neutralized that shit already. I hate being left behind. They need eyes, even if I can't shoot."

"Wilson's got eyes," Barnes said.

"Eh," Clint said. "I mean, I get that he's got the vantage point, but he doesn't strike me as having eyes the way I've got eyes. Or you; you were a sniper, yeah? You've got eyes."

Barnes looked over at Clint, and for an instant, their gazes collided, throwing off sparks like flint and steel. Barnes grinned, sharp and wolfish. "Yeah," he said. "How'd you end up benched, anyway? Tony said your specialty was stealth ops."

Clint growled, but at least it wasn't more _silence_ , because _silence_ was beyond emergency, beyond crisis, and into duck-and-run territory, _silence_ was the tesseract eating his heart, _silence_ was the _wrong god damn people dying_. So yeah, if Clint had to tell this story to keep the silence at bay, then fine. "They didn't fill you in already? I was in deep cover when the mess with Hydra came down. Turned out my handler was part of it. She shot me when I reported in. I left her for dead, but she wasn't as dumb as I thought and she had backup already standing by.

"They grabbed me, kept me in a cell for... four or five months? I'm guessing they were still Hydra, but they never said for sure. They had discipline, I have to give them that. I never got to see another prisoner, I never found out what the device they were testing on me was supposed to do, and they apparently stayed deep enough under cover that even Nat couldn't find me." He closed his eyes for a moment, because that had been the worst part -- months on end of wondering if even Nat had given him up for dead... or just plain given up.

"But eventually they decided I wasn't useful to them anymore, and that was the one place they screwed up, yeah? Because they should've just put a bullet in my head, and instead they decided to sell me to the highest bidder. Which turned out to be Ten Rings."

Barnes frowned. "I've heard of them."

"Yeah, your file says you did a job for them about ten years ago."

Barnes looked at him, expressionless, and Clint shrugged ( _ow, shoulder_ ). "I'm the one who brought in the Black Widow, man. I am the fucking _poster boy_ for giving people second chances around here."

Barnes snorted at that and shoved the fingers of his human hand through his hair, rubbing at his neck. "What'd Ten Rings want with you?"

"Mostly, to make an example of me for screwing up their operations a few times in the past."

"And?"

"What?"

"You said 'mostly,'" Barnes pointed out. "What's the rest of it?"

Clint stared up at the ceiling. "Bait," he admitted.

"For the Avengers?"

"Yeah." God, when he'd figured that out... Shock of relief, when he'd realized they hadn't given up on him after all. And shame, because he was a god damn Avenger and shouldn't have to be fucking rescued. And guilt, because it was going to be his fault if they got hurt -- or worse -- when they came for him.

"Didn't work," Barnes said, intruding on Clint's memories. "They got you out, instead."

"Yeah," Clint said. "Got kind of dicey for a bit there, though. Sometimes I think--" He broke off, because Bucky's stance had gone rigid. "What is it?"

"Ten Rings was using Tony's tech to hide you."

"Yeah. But that's old hat. I mean, their hard-on for Tony's tech is the whole reason Iron Man even _exists_."

"And Ten Rings is affiliated with AIM. Which developed Extremis," Barnes snapped. "JARVIS, lock down this floor."

JARVIS did not respond.

"JARVIS!"

_Oh. Fuck._ Clint's fingers itched for a weapon that he couldn't use. "Barnes." Clint pointed up at the ceiling. "In the vents. My emergency stash."

Barnes raised an eyebrow, but didn't waste time with more questions. He climbed onto Clint's bed, pulled open the cover, and hoisted himself up into the space there. "These are very roomy vents," Barnes said.

"Tony's the best," Clint agreed absently, "but if you tell him I said that I will deny it with my dying breath. Go south until you come to a crossways, and there should be a panel in the west wall, just past it." Clint had stashes all over the building. He hadn't survived this long by scoffing at paranoia.

He tracked Barnes' movement by the sound of the metal arm thumping and scraping (roomy vents were still vents, and Barnes was bulkier than Clint), his eyes flickering between the window and the door, wondering how long they had.

There was a loud, metallic crunch, and Barnes grunted in surprise. "Found it," his voice echoed distantly.

Barnes was almost back when Clint saw the ropes drop past the window. JARVIS had apparently realized he was compromised in time to shut down the access hatches, at least. But rappelling down and blowing the window wasn't going to be that much slower than just taking the damn elevator. "They're coming," Clint said, trying to keep his voice steady and his legs out of the way as Barnes dropped back down into the room, pulling Clint's emergency pack after him.

Clint watched the ropes for the telltale twitching that meant someone was coming down. Thank god the medbay wasn't at the top of the tower. "Yeah, okay. I'm all but useless right now, so this is your op," he told Barnes. "What's next?"

Barnes looked at the ropes, which were beginning to twitch and sway. "Next," Barnes said. He turned to look at Clint, his icy eyes burning with fear and anger. He rolled his shoulders and neck and drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. Another long breath, while the air burned in lungs that Clint could not seem to relax. As Barnes exhaled that one, his face drained and went blank. "Now," Barnes said in an accentless, emotionless voice that made Clint shiver, "you're going to give me a mission."

 


	17. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony started cursing over the comms.
> 
> "Tony?"
> 
> Tony just kept cursing, and Steve did not like the slightly frantic tone he was developing. "Iron Man, report!" he snapped.
> 
> "I lost JARVIS," Tony growled.
> 
> "You don't have to be the first feet on the ground every time. Reboot, and we'll--"
> 
> " _No_ ," Tony interrupted. "Not the JARVIS in my suit. I've lost contact with JARVIS _central_. At the _Tower_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for one brief but graphic and kind of gruesome bad-guy death.

Steve was grateful that Natasha was piloting the quinjet, because he hadn't the slightest idea where she was going to land the thing. From twenty miles out, he could already see the devastation, a crater of an epicenter surrounded by spotty fires, but outside that, it was all trees for miles around.

Bruce, already stripped down to his boxers, leaned between the pilots' seats to get an idea of the area; Tony had yet to find a way to keep a comm on the Hulk, so once Bruce landed in the field, there was no reliable way to update his part of the plan. Steve pointed out the boundaries. "Try to keep them herded in toward the center. I'd like to keep the damage contained, if we can."

Bruce nodded. "Do my best, Steve." It was all he could promise; the Hulk was difficult to steer.

"Sam, I want you to stay high until we're sure the Extremis enhanciles are neutralized. We'll need the recon anyway, and there's no way your wings can handle the damage they deal." Nor Sam either, but Steve wasn't going to insult him by saying so.

"Natasha--"

"I'm not staying off the field," Natasha said, "so don't even say it."

"No," Steve agreed. "But I don't want you to engage. I need you to get inside the line and figure out what they're doing here in the first place. There's not supposed to be anything of value at this base."

She didn't look at him, occupied with landing in a burned-clear patch of forest only barely bigger than the jet. "What do you want me to do when I find it?"

"That depends on what it is," Steve said, "obviously. If you can, call it in. Otherwise, I'll trust your judgment." Steve watching the ground coming up and estimated thirty seconds to touchdown, so he released his flight harness and pushed past Bruce to scoop up his shield and position himself in front of the hatch. The quinjet wasn't the stealthiest of vehicles; Steve would be surprised if there wasn't a welcoming committee.

Tony started cursing over the comms.

"Tony?"

Tony just kept cursing, and Steve did not like the slightly frantic tone he was developing. "Iron Man, report!" he snapped.

"I lost JARVIS," Tony growled.

"You don't have to be the first feet on the ground every time. Reboot, and we'll--"

" _No_ ," Tony interrupted. "Not the JARVIS in my suit. I've lost contact with JARVIS _central_. At the _Tower_."

"Dammit," Steve swore. "No idea what happened?"

"The last several data packets are encrypted under a key that's not mine. Working on cracking them, but I'm limited to the processing power I've got onboard, which is also operating the suit, so it'll be a couple of minutes."

"Well then, we'll clear the first wave and then figure it out," Steve said, bracing. "Widow, secure the jet while we handle that." Wheels down, and Steve popped the hatch door. They were immediately assaulted with gunfire. He put up the shield and charged the frontmost attacker, idly counting them even as he twisted the shield for a riccochet. Eight-- six-- five. A blur of red and gold from Steve's left brought the number down to three. None of these appeared to be enhanced, which was either a blessing or slightly worrisome.

"Falcon, you're airborne," Steve called. Another squad of soldiers ran in out of the forest, one of them hefting a grenade launcher (eleven-and-one). Steve snapped the shield toward the launcher, drove himself into another man (ten).

"Launching now," Sam responded.

"Good. Banner, suit up!" Steve said, catching the shield and winging it again to help distract their attackers from Sam's lift (nine).

"Falcon is away," Tony confirmed. He flew by again, rolling in midair to fire repulsors. (eight-seven).

The Hulk roared and jumped over Steve to land in the midst of the soldiers, and Steve lost track of the count almost immediately as they scattered.

Tony landed just behind Steve, letting Bruce take over the wholesale devastation. "Put everything but life support on that decrypt, JARVIS." Tony was all but offline, running nothing but the decryption and a private comm line to Steve, trusting Steve to guard him. Whatever was happening at the Tower, it had Tony really rattled. "Come on, J. I need to know--" He started swearing again.

"What?" Steve demanded.

"Hostiles at the Tower, confirmed," Tony said, his voice tight. "The last packet I got was an emergency lockdown code."

Steve felt the world fall away from under his feet. He checked to make sure none of their attackers had circled around behind the Hulk for them, then touched the comm control on his helmet. "Hill! I need a sitrep at the Tower, _now_."

He got static. "Hill!" Steve touched his comm control again. "Hill's out of contact, too," he told Tony. "I thought you had her based in DC."

"I do, but JARVIS relays the comms for us to keep them secure," Tony said. "She'll engage backup protocols as soon as she realizes we're not hearing her, but it'll take an hour to reroute everything without JARVIS' help." Tony hesitated, then said, "You need to go back. Take Widow."

"I can't. The situation here--"

A gauntlet closed on Steve's wrist. Steve knew from experience that he couldn't break that grip without damaging both the armor and Tony's hand, so he just glared into the eyeslits of Tony's armor. "It's Ten Rings, Cap," Tony said, his voice flatter even than the suit usually made it.

"You don't know--"

"The encryption they're using at the Tower to bypass JARVIS is a match for the same batch of chips you found three weeks ago. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to crack it so quickly."

Steve felt the blood drain from his face. "Clint."

"Yeah." Tony released him. "Take Widow and get back there _now_."

"Be careful. These guys still have Extremis," Steve cautioned, already jogging back toward the quinjet.

"I have a Hulk," Tony said glibly, and shot up into the air. " _Go_."

Steve met Natasha coming down the gangplank. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside.

#

As soon as the Tower became visible on the horizon, Natasha slapped at the camera controls. "I'm going to need to find another spot to land," she said. "They're in my parking space."

Steve growled at the delay, but Natasha shot a small smile his way. "It means they haven't gotten what they came for yet," she pointed out.

"There's that." Steve stared hard at the display. "Can you bank low over the Tower before you go find another place to land?"

"Yes. But they'll be shooting at us."

Steve grinned, then, feral and sharp. "Not for long." He made for the hatch. "Sweep in from the bottom once you're on the ground. We'll meet in the middle."

"Was that your first battle plan since 1945?"

"What, we're bantering now?" Steve punched in the code to open the door and braced himself, watching for his moment to jump.

"Just trying to fill the void," she deadpanned. "I'm lost without Barton and Stark having some kind of pissing contest in my ear while I do their jobs for them."

"I understand there's an app for that on the new Starkphone."

"Bricked my phone when I threw it at Stark's face the other day. Those titanium cases have nothing on his hard head." Natasha's voice lost its light tone. "Your floor's coming up in ten, Cap."

The jet banked hard and Steve grabbed at the sides of the door so he wouldn't fall before he even spotted the building. He heard shots, tightened his grip as the jet swerved and dodged. Another hard bank and he saw the Tower coming in close, _God, too close, Nat. I could've jumped from higher up..._

He jumped and rolled, snatching the shield from its clip as he lost momentum. There were three goons on top of him almost immediately. These were much better fighters than the soldiers in Jersey, but Steve fell easily into the familiar rhythms of the fight, his blood hot with anger.

Swing of the shield, close-close-spin kick, and there were two. Duck-and-roll, leg-sweep, shield-punch (one) and Steve straightened and turned--

\--to watch the third man fall, his throat torn open by the shattered remnants of a bullet and his own spine. Blinking, Steve lifted his gaze.

Standing in the stairwell doorway beyond was Bucky, looking at him with the Winter Soldier's icy, unblinking stare. The Glock in his metal hand was still aimed at the ghost of the fallen man.

"Captain," Bucky said, his voice rough but level.

If Steve drew a slightly deeper breath than the one before, well, that was his own lookout. "Hawkeye?" he asked.

The faintest ghost of a smile touched Bucky's lips, and he stepped aside to show Clint leaning on the wall behind him.

The splints had been stripped off Clint's fingers, but his hands were steady as they cradled another gun. His expression was as focused and determined as Steve had ever seen it. They were going to have _words_ when this was over, but for now, Steve just met Clint's stubborn glare with a nod, then looked back at Bucky.

"You figure there's anyone else left on this barge?" he asked, nodding toward the Ten Rings' vehicle.

No one else had emerged to shoot at them, yet, at least.

Bucky smiled then, lazy and slow and bloodthirsty. "Let's go find out," he said, walking forward. "I've got your six."


	18. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Man was carrying Bruce bridal-style. And Bruce was naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's time for some more smut! If you're enjoying the story but really aren't into that, you might want to read the very short first section of this chapter, and then you can skip the rest, as it is porn and entirely lacking in plot. :-)

Iron Man was carrying Bruce bridal-style. And Bruce was naked.

"You trying to make me jealous?" Bucky asked as Tony landed, not moving from his lean against the access door.

"Depends. Is it working?" The faceplate raised, and Bucky's heart jumped at that goddamn grin.

"Nah, Bruce is too skinny for you. No offense, Doc."

"You can't insult Bruce, he's my bitch!"

"You _really_ have that backwards, Tony," Bruce sighed, setting his feet to the ground. He looked exhausted and windburned, but otherwise whole. "But I'm pretty sure I don't have enough dignity to be offended right now." He clung to Tony's arm for a moment to get his balance. "Steve couldn't have tossed out my clothes before he came swooping back to save your hides?"

Bucky shrugged. "You'll have to take that up with Steve. Our hides didn't even need saving, really. Clint and I were doing just fine. But on Clint's advice, I scrounged up some pants and left 'em in the top floor bathroom for you." He pulled the door open and grinned at the grateful mutter Bruce left in his wake as he passed. Bucky let the door fall closed again and scanned the sky. "Where's Sam?"

"Should be here in ten minutes or so. His wings are slower than my suit, even when I've got a passenger. Everyone okay here?" Tony asked, trying for nonchalant and missing the mark horribly.

"Unless Natasha's decided it was time for that pointed chat with Clint for getting out of bed."

"He got-- of _course_ he got up," Tony said resignedly. "But everyone's okay?"

Bucky smirked. "We're fine, boss. Promise. Soon's Sam gets here, we'll debrief, but last I checked, Clint's back in bed, Steve and Natasha were working on getting JARVIS up and running -- they'll need your help for that -- and we have prisoners for you to twirl your mustache at until someone manages to get your sarcasm classified as an inhumane condition or something."

Tony's eyebrows went up. "You took prisoners?"

"Don't be stupid. _Natasha_ took prisoners."

Tony did not look any less surprised. "Huh. I thought she'd be feeling particularly murderous about the guys trying to steal Clint from us again. If anyone was going to take prisoners, I figured it would be Steve."

"I think she decided that a quick death was too good for 'em," Bucky allowed. "And cripes, you really don't know Steve that well, do you? These guys came into our home and threatened our family. There are lines you just don't cross with Steve."

Tony smiled, soft and sweet and slightly goofy. "Our family?"

Bucky huffed, shoving a hand through his hair to rub at his neck. "Well, yeah. Of course. Asshole."

"Yeah, okay," Tony said, and pulled Bucky to him for a kiss. "As soon as JARVIS is fixed and the debrief is done, I'm going to need you to tear off all my clothes."

"Work, work, work."

#

The elevator doors opened and Bucky, who had been leaning against them, stumbled backward into Tony's rooms, pulling Tony with him.

"Bed?" he managed hoarsely, hoping he wouldn't bump into anything too delicate on their wavering path.

"Mm," Tony rumbled against his throat. "Shower."

"God," Bucky groaned, because Tony's shower was fucking enormous and Bucky kind of lusted after it even when Tony _wasn't_ in it. "Yes." He gave up trying to pull Tony along and let Tony steer him, instead.

Their clothes disappeared somewhere along the way, and Bucky was too caught up in the taste of Tony's skin and the feel of Tony's hands to care much about precisely where. Tony pushed him back against the tile and Bucky hissed at the cold. Tony laughed into his mouth, and Bucky swallowed the sounds, already aching.

"You going to fuck me this time?" he asked as the water came on, trailing his hands over Tony's chest, tracing the edges of the scar.

Tony shivered despite the near-scalding water, pressing his face into Bucky's neck. "Jesus, Buck... That what you want?"

"God, yes." They hadn't done that yet, but Tony's fingers had pressed into him when he came, and the memory of it was like fire in his veins. Bucky ran his hands down Tony's arms, pushed Tony's hands to his hips. "Please, Tony. God. Don't make me beg."

"I am _absolutely_ going to make you beg," Tony promised, and Bucky laughed, but it was a shaky, needy thing. "But first..."

Tony turned Bucky to the wall and began to cover his skin with soapy lather, thumbs digging into Bucky's tired muscles. Bucky tried to reciprocate, to help, but Tony batted his attempts away, so Bucky just leaned his forehead against the wall and let the hot water and Tony's strong hands relax him.

When Bucky sighed and let his shoulders slump, Tony's touches became softer, more caressing, peppered with warm kisses that covered Bucky's shoulders and back. "So gorgeous," Tony murmured, tongue tracing the edge of Bucky's arm socket, making Bucky shudder with desire.

Tony's mouth remained between Bucky's shoulders, but one hand slipped to Bucky's ass, fingers ghosting along the crack, then teasing in to press against his hole. "Tony..."

"I've got you," Tony promised.

Something cool touched Bucky's ass, and he reluctantly turned his head and opened one eye, trying to see. "Lube's just gonna rinse right off," he warned.

Tony grinned and leaned in for a kiss. "Waterproof," he said. "Will you please just relax and trust me to take care of you?"

Bucky closed his eyes again. "Sounds nice," he admitted. "Next time, I'll take care of you?"

Tony's breath caught, just a little, but he pressed another kiss to Bucky's shoulder. "It's a date."

Bucky really wanted to say something mildly sarcastic to that, about how they hadn't actually gone on any dates yet, but then Tony's fingers were spreading the lube into his crack, pressing up against his hole again, and all he got out was an inarticulate grumble.

Tony chuckled and nipped at his back, a short, sharp scrape of teeth that made Bucky miss Tony's finger pressing into him until it was halfway in. "God, you feel good, Bucky," Tony breathed, pushing in slowly and steadily.

"Uh," Bucky managed, dropping his head back to the tile. Tony's finger pressed deeper still. It didn't hurt, but he could feel a gentle scrape of callus that made him want to whimper with need. All the way in, then, and Tony went still, dropping kisses along Bucky's back.

Then Tony's finger began to move, just a little. It curled and it twisted, and Bucky let out a soft whine at the gentle stretch. Tony began to pump the finger in and out, slow and gentle, and Bucky moaned. "Oh, God, Tony."

Tony hummed, pleased, adding more lube and moving faster and harder. "You feel so good. Want to make it good for you."

Bucky's hips began to sway with Tony's soft thrusts, chasing the sensation. "More," he groaned.

"Yeah?" A second finger pushed in and Bucky bit his lip. "Sweetheart," Tony whispered, "don't hold it back. God, you're so hot and tight and I can't wait to be inside you, but I'm greedy, I want everything, everything you've got, all your heat and your noises. Give it all to me."

That tore a whine from Bucky's throat and he put his hands on the wall and rocked back onto Tony's hand, hard. It burned a little, but not enough, not nearly enough. He needed more, needed the burn to ignite into flame. He pushed back again, and again, fucking himself on Tony's hand and whimpering with need.

"Jesus," Tony said hoarsely. "Bucky, fuck, you're so damn _sexy_ like this, god, I could almost get off just watching you." He moved his fingers inside Bucky, twisting and scissoring until Bucky was gulping for air. Another deep press and Bucky shouted at the sizzling jolt that ripped through him. "There it is," Tony hummed smugly, and did it again.

"Tony, _fuck_ ," Bucky gasped.

"Ready for one more?" Tony asked.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. And oh, _God_ , yes, that was good, almost-- almost perfect, just, _fuck_ , he needed, needed so bad...

"I know, babe. I've got you. Stay with me."

Shit, had he been saying all that out loud? Bucky laid his head against the wall again, almost incoherent with wanting. "Tony... Tony, _please_ , it's so-- so good and I want you now. Now, please, Tony, God, fuck, _now_."

Tony chuckled and bit down on Bucky's good shoulder, making him yelp. "Mm, such lovely begging," he said.

"Asshole," Bucky panted, not even caring about the plaintive whine in his voice. "C'mon, fuck me now."

Tony pulled free and Bucky shuddered at the sudden empty sensation, but then he heard the crinkle of plastic (When had Tony put condoms in the damn shower? He was gonna give Tony _such_ a hard time for that. Later.) and the next moment, Tony's hands were on him, nudging him into position.

More lube, and then he felt the thick tip of Tony's cock against his hole. _God, yes, finally_. "Breathe, Buck," Tony said, sliding one hand up the center of Bucky's back, soothing. "Deep breath, and then out again, nice and slow. Stop me if anything hurts." Tony pushed into him as he let out the breath, pressure and stretch and just a hint of burn.

"Tony," he sighed, "God, Tony, that's..."

"Yeah," Tony said, and Bucky could hear the smile. "Just a little more, okay?"

"Yeah, good, I'm good, don't you dare stop now." Another slow breath and then Tony was in him to the hilt, Tony's hips fitted snuggly against Bucky's ass. "Damn, that's... that's amazing," Bucky groaned.

Tony curled over him and leaned his forehead against Bucky's back, and it was Tony panting hard now. "Yeah," he gasped. "It's pretty damned amazing on this side, too, Buck."

Bucky took a few more deep breaths, feeling his body adjust, and then said, "Okay, move now."

"Just..." Tony took a hard breath, and his voice was absolutely ragged. "Just need to come down a notch first."

Christ, knowing he could wind Tony up like that, without even trying, made him feel... _God_. Bucky grinned and rocked back, and Tony let out a strangled noise that made Bucky laugh. "Come on and fuck me, already."

"Pushy," Tony complained, but then he was moving and Bucky was all out of words because everything was heat and sweet ache and lightning threads of pleasure. Tony's hands were hard on his hips (maybe he'd get handprints of his own) and then Bucky caught Tony's rhythm and began to slam back into it, driving Tony deeper and deeper.

Tony's grip shifted, one hand sliding up Bucky's back to tangle his fingers in Bucky's hair. Bucky let his head fall back as Tony pulled, surrendering to the moment, to Tony's use, to his own hot _wanting_.

And then Tony's other hand slid over Bucky's hip to wrap around his cock and Bucky all but screamed, so focused on what Tony had been doing to his ass that he'd almost forgotten he even had a prick. Tony's touch was like ice in the desert, an agonizing relief.

It took only a handful of strokes before he came, shaking like a leaf in a gale. Tony cursed as Bucky's body clenched around him and followed only a few thrusts later, all but collapsing against Bucky's back as he heaved for breath.

When they finally left the shower, Bucky checked in the mirror -- no handprints, but there were several fingertip bruises. He caught Tony looking at them, and warmth fluttered through his chest at Tony's small, possessive smile.

It wasn't until later, when they were curled together in the center of Tony's ridiculous bed, that Bucky considered that lingering warmth, and the way Tony's breath sometimes caught for no apparent reason, and he wondered if he could possibly be ready for this, so much more terrifying in its way than the Winter Soldier.

Time to make a choice, then. And Bucky had never been the kind of man to stand down from a fight, even if he might get his ass kicked.

Or his heart broken.

He kissed Tony, slow and sweet, and when he broke away, he looked into Tony's warm eyes, sleepy and smiling, and said, "Can I take you on a date?"

And Tony's breath hitched, just a little, before he kissed Bucky back and said, "Absolutely."


	19. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a guy whose defining characteristic (aside from unswerving loyalty to a certain blond punk with a tendency to bite off more than he could chew) was his absolute, swaggering confidence in the face of any challenge, Bucky Barnes was swiftly dissolving into a helpless wreck of nerves.

For a man who had saved the day and, arguably, the team, Bucky Barnes was infuriatingly reluctant to accept the gratitude -- and the reward -- he was due.

"Were you even _listening_ during that debrief last week, Steve? It wasn't me! I only activated the Winter Soldier and hoped to hell it would stop at just taking down the goddamn bad guys!"

Steve sighed. "Bucky--"

"I'm not safe, Stevie. I ain't never gonna be safe."

"None of us are _safe_ people, Buck, up to and including your boyfriend. That's not news; Tony told you all about that the first time you met him. Murderers and thieves, remember?" Steve pressed his lips together tightly, not wanting to be any more snappish than he had already been.

"I am _not_ some damn superhero," Bucky said, his mouth pursing mulishly.

Steve pressed his fingertips into his eyelids, willing the pressure to ease the headache. "If Tony was here, he'd know how to make you listen." Unfortunately, Tony had been called out of the city on business and wouldn't be back for another two days. Bucky just snorted, and Steve looked over at Natasha and Sam helplessly. "Can't you guys make him see reason?"

Sam's mouth twisted, and then he shook his head. "He's got the right to turn it down, Cap. He doesn't want to be an Avenger, he doesn't have to."

" _Thank_ you," Bucky growled, shoving his hand through his hair and scratching irritably at his nape.

Steve wanted to growl, too. If Bucky _actually_ didn't want to join the Avengers, then Steve would've already dropped it. But Steve had _seen_ the look of desperate longing in Bucky's eyes. Bucky was only resisting because he thought he didn't _deserve_ it.

Another thing that Bucky and Tony had in common, much to Steve's frustration.

"I think you should reconsider, though, man," Sam was saying. "You called up the skills, but they're _your_ skills now. You were in control for that entire operation. Not the Winter Soldier. You." Sam held up his hands to stave off Bucky's protest. "Your choice. I'm just sayin' -- you change your mind, you've still got my vote."

Bucky scowled, and turned his glare on Natasha. "You ganging up on me, too?" he demanded. "You know what I was."

Natasha leaned into Bucky's space and gently cradled his face in her hands, and Steve's breath caught in his throat. "You know what I was, too, Солдат," she said, so quietly that even Steve's enhanced hearing barely heard it. "Do you think I left that part of myself behind? There is no escaping the past. That was _their_ folly, thinking it could be erased." Almost tenderly, she brushed back his hair and kissed his forehead, then pulled back to look him solemnly in the eyes. If she said anything else, Steve couldn't hear it, but Bucky's expression softened.

After a moment, Natasha released Bucky. She laid a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed gently, then left the room, beckoning for Sam to follow her.

Sam frowned after her, then glanced at Steve. Steve nodded, and Sam sighed and left.

"You listen to me, Steve," Bucky said quickly, before Steve could say anything else. "I mean, really, _listen_ for once in your goddamn life." He glared a challenge.

Steve forced himself to meet Bucky's glare calmly. "Yeah, Buck, I'm listening."

Bucky swallowed, hard. "It was _him_ , Steve. I just... pointed him at the target."

Steve smiled faintly. "You always had great aim, buddy. Even before the war."

Bucky's expression was a bloody battlefield of fear and desire. His mouth tightened again. "If I do this... I want to keep the name."

"The name?"

"Like Natasha did. If I let you sign me up, I'm keeping the codename. I ain't gonna pretend that I've never gotten my hands dirty. You really ready to say you've got the Winter Soldier on your roster, _Captain America_?"

Steve all but slumped in relief, and he felt the smile stretch wide. "Bucky, if it means you'll be watching my back, you can call yourself the Winter Soldier, the Summer Accountant, or Susan, for all I care."

#

For a guy whose defining characteristic (aside from unswerving loyalty to a certain blond punk with a tendency to bite off more than he could chew) was his absolute, swaggering confidence in the face of any challenge, Bucky Barnes was swiftly dissolving into a helpless wreck of nerves.

"Jesus, Stevie," he moaned before Steve even made his way down the hall and into Bucky's bedroom, "why did I think I could do this?"

"Did you really make me interrupt Movie Night to come up here and give you a pep talk before your date?" Steve demanded. "With a man you've been sleeping with for almost two _weeks_?"

Bucky whimpered, and Steve heard a soft _thud_ that, as he rounded the corner, resolved into Bucky's head thunking into the wall. "Sex is _easy_ ," Bucky complained. "This is... How'm I supposed to impress a goddamn _billionare_ , Steve?"

Steve, getting a good look at the way Bucky was dressed, let out a slow whistle. "Well, _I'm_ impressed," he said, "and I don't even swing that way. Damn, Buck, you look sharp."

Bucky was wearing tight black jeans, a dark red button-down, and a charcoal-grey blazer that looked like it had been tailored specifically for him. He grimaced at Steve's compliment, though, and plucked nervously at the lapels of his jacket. "You're fuckin' with me," he mumbled. "It's too much, right?"

Steve tugged Bucky upright, pulled the fabric free from Bucky's hands and smoothed it down. "I'm not messing with you," he promised. "You look like a million bucks."

Bucky covered his face with a groan. "Which means I'm still stupidly outclassed."

Steve swallowed a laugh. "Hey, if I thought he wanted someone with class, I'd have warned him off of you right at the start."

"Fuck you," Bucky grumbled.

"Bucky, really," Steve said, "it'll be fine."

Bucky groaned again and leaned into Steve, hiding his face against Steve's shoulder. "I am going to fuck this up."

"Yeah, probably."

"Seriously, fuck you."

"I'm just trying to be supportive," Steve said, all round eyes and innocence. He dodged the half-hearted punch Bucky threw his way, then slung an arm around Bucky's shoulders, and God, Bucky was actually _shaking_. "Hey, c'mon, Buck. I swear, I've never seen you actually nervous for a date before. It's not the money, I know it isn't. You know Tony doesn't care if you take him somewhere fancy, right? If I thought he was that shallow, I'd have warned _you_ off."

"I know. I just... Dates used to be easy, Steve. Take a gal out somewhere fun -- pictures or the fair or something -- and flirt with her, make 'er feel special. Bam. In the bag, you know?"

"You always made it look just that easy, too, you jerk," Steve said. "So tell me why you can't do that for Tony."

Bucky huffed. "Kinda hard to know how to make him feel special. He already _knows_ he's special. Goddamn genius billionare sex god superhero."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, okay, but you already said it wasn't the sex or the money. And you know a few other geniuses and superheroes. So why are you so gone for _Tony_ and not anyone else?"

"I don't know."

"Don't kid a kidder, Buck."

Bucky grimaced. "I guess... because... Christ, I can't put it in words! Because... because he shines like you do, Steve, made me want to... to fight back. To be better. He's never tried to sugarcoat anything that was ugly, but he never flinched from it, neither, not his ugly or anyone else's. Because he does every single thing so... so _fiercely_ , and when he forgets that someone's watching, he's goddamn _beautiful_ , like a force of fucking nature. How could I... How could I _not_ love that, Steve?"

Smiling, Steve pulled Bucky into a hug. "Just hold on to that, Buck, and you're gonna be fine."

"Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS interrupted politely, "you asked to be informed when Mr. Stark was on his way."

Bucky pulled free of Steve's arms. "Yeah, thanks, J."

"Of course, sir."

Steve smiled and smoothed down Bucky's coat again. "Go quick, comb your hair."

Bucky rolled his shoulders, then shoved his fingers defiantly through his hair. "Nah, 's my rakish charm."

"Ruffian, more like," Steve teased, but then the elevator sounded out in the living room, and Steve followed Bucky out.

Tony looked nice, too, but then Tony had probably grown up wearing three-piece suits and tuxedos, so Tony looking nice wasn't such a shock to Steve's sense of order. He greeted Bucky with a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek, then cocked his head curiously at Steve. "Come to see us off?" he said lightly. "Set the curfew? Remind us to keep the proper space between us while we're dancing?"

Steve snorted. "Nah, I was just here to help him get his stocking seams straight," he deadpanned.

Tony laughed and turned back to Bucky. "So when do I get to find out what you have planned for us?" he asked.

Bucky smiled, almost shy, and the sudden look of helpless devotion on Tony's face filled Steve with a sweet ache. Because the way they were looking at each other was suddenly more naked than any bodies could ever be, and _God_... How did they do that?

Tony caught up Bucky's metal hand in his, their fingers twining together as they walked back onto the elevator, and Steve watched them go with a warm smile.

Yeah. It was going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation: Солдат = _Soldier_
> 
> \---
> 
> The End? Already? *cries*
> 
> This was a _fantastic_ journey for me, made _infinitely_ brighter (and more addictive) by all of your wonderful comments and kudos. I'm so incredibly excited to have pleased so many people, and I'm already eagerly making notes and plans for other projects, so if you enjoyed this, please do subscribe here or on my [Tumblr](http://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com/) and see what happens next!
> 
> Specifically, what happens next is that I'm working on a 30-Day OTP smut challenge based in the same universe as this story, and I'll start posting those sometime in the next week or so, once I've got a smidge of a backlog to work with, because I'm not writing them at _quite_ the prescribed one-a-day rate. There's also some talk of a possible collaboration, and I am always open to drabble/prompt/RP suggestions over on the tumblr. (Seriously, hit me up or give me ideas!)
> 
> Once again, _THANK YOU_ to everyone who has mashed the Kudos button, taken the time to leave comments, or even just stuck around to read through to the end. You guys are seriously _**the very best**_.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been one of those stories that refused to go where I steered it. You'd laugh if I told you what it was supposed to have been when I started! That said, I'm pretty pleased with the way it's turned out, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](http://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com/) where my fannish squee is focused; please follow if you like!
> 
> As it happens, I'm also a published erotica author. If you liked this and think you might enjoy some non-fandom stuff, please check out a few of my free reads at [my rarely-updated writing blog](http://everyworldneedslove.blogspot.com/p/free-reads.html) or peruse my [catalog](http://everyworldneedslove.blogspot.com/p/catalog.html).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Murderers and Thieves by 27dragons"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167072) by [PeggyStarkk (LupusUlulans)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupusUlulans/pseuds/PeggyStarkk)




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